


The Rift

by seapigeon



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Artist Steve Rogers, Bitchcraft, Gay Sex, Ghosts, Homophobia, M/M, Magic, Near Death Experiences, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Romani Bucky Barnes, Roommates, Science Nerd Bucky Barnes, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-01-31 08:45:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 37,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12678450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seapigeon/pseuds/seapigeon
Summary: Steve Rogers is used to things going wrong.  He's had poor health and bad luck his entire life.  He's not really sure why he thought witchcraft would be any different.  Maybe because he didn't believe it was real...?Turns out, it's all kinds of real, and now he has a ghost in the attic, a mystery to solve, and a huge crush on his roommate.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hopeless--Geek (wuzzy90)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wuzzy90/gifts).



> This work is inspired by the awesome art of [hopeless--geek](http://hopeless--geek.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> A prompt was posted along with it, in which Steve falls for the ghost he summons, but that struck me as too sad and my brain didn't feel like jumping through the plot hoops necessary to undo it. So this isn't the exact prompt, but pretty darn close.
> 
> The story contains some stereotypical references and tropes related to Romani culture/magic. It's purely for the sake of the story, so if you're looking for an accurate representation you won't necessarily find it here.
> 
> I was hoping to finish this before Halloween but, well, nope. So we're gonna stay spooky well past October 31.

 

It was absurd, what he was doing.Steve blew out a breath and continued the work of setting out the votives in a circle on the attic floor.He didn't usually come up here because the dust wreaked havoc on his asthma, but he was beyond caring.He couldn’t do this downstairs where anyone might see.Not that anyone was home, anyway.

The people in the Arts Theme House were nice.Nobody treated him poorly.Thing was, nobody noticed him, either.Same as it ever was.So that was how Steve found himself alone with nothing to do on a college campus Halloween night.

With the macabre on the brain, he’d gravitated toward a book he picked up at a second hand shop a few months before.It was made to look like a spell book - a novelty, of course, probably a Halloween decoration itself - but the illustrations and lettering were beautiful.That was what had drawn him to it.Initially he didn’t read the words so much as just admire them, but once he got past the calligraphy he realized that they were actual spells.Not just nonsense.

_That’s up for debate, Rogers_.

He ignored that voice.He heard it too often and sometimes he just got sick of it.

_It isn’t your fault, Steve, baby,_ his mother would say. _It’s mine, I shouldn’t have moved you away from your friends, I should have known you needed to be in real school, but you got sick so often.You would have fallen so far behind if not for the home schooling._

She was right.He’d always been a little too prone to things, but it really hit hard in middle school.Of course, that was right after they moved from Brooklyn to the suburbs, to a town full of people who had always been better off than him.He already didn’t know how to talk to people with silver spoons in their mouths.Then the mixed bag of bad genes and autoimmune disorders took him down at a time where he needed to be learning how to navigate the strange world of post-puberty life with his peers. 

He never made it back to real school after that.He would have flunked every year, with the amount of time he spent too sick to do much more than get to and from the bathroom.End result, he never knew what to say, and when he tried he got flustered and tripped over his words.He learned pretty quickly that people weren’t patient.Usually they just thought he was weird. 

It was easier to pretend to be shy.When you were invisible, you couldn’t make people uncomfortable.That was, in part, what had drawn him to this particular spell, on page 74 of the weathered spell book. 

Sometimes he felt like a ghost, and this was a spell to summon someone from the beyond.Someone who had died.Ghost to ghost. 

He imagined talking to a ghost was a little easier, like chatting or texting or reddit.But who the hell knew?With his luck he’d summon some sassy spirit that would be judgmental as fuck. 

Actually, he knew who he was going to try for.His father.His _real_ father, not the plain but rich lawyer that had somehow won his mother’s affections.There was nothing wrong with Tom; he was nice enough, didn’t mind paying whatever cost Steve’s art scholarship didn’t cover, and he treated Sarah well.Tom just didn’t _get_ Steve, and he’d stopped trying now that Steve was out of the house.He couldn’t blame him.Awkward gay stepsons who spent hours agonizing over two Pantone shades that were basically the same did not fit into the Country Club life.

What shocked him was how well his mother fit into that life.He would never have anything to say about her parenting, nor doubt her love for him, but the woman he kissed on the cheek when he got home on his breaks was different than the one who raised him.Not in a bad way, he supposed.She deserved to sleep enough, not worry about money, and go to yoga or spin classes so she could feel good about herself.She deserved to live easy after losing her first husband and being a single mother to a sick child.

Steve exhaled and set the picture of his biological father, Joseph, down on the pitted wood floor.Then he picked up the quick lighter and methodically lit the circle of candles.He arranged five more pillar candles in a circle - the points of a pentagram - and lit those, too. 

For a few minutes he got lost in the dance of flame.As an artist it had always fascinated him, the colors, the way the flame bent and twisted in air currents, the shadows it cast.Said shadows were live things, undulating along the attic walls.There was something about an attic, some rule that said light could never quite reach the corners, and this was no exception.

For shits and giggles, he slid a witch hat onto his head.One of the girls had left it on the couch downstairs, too drunk before the night even began to remember this integral part of her costume.Her loss, his gain.

He smoothed his hands over the pages of the book.The paper was on its way to brittle; he had to be careful.

“To summon the dead,” he murmured. 

Steve looked at the picture again.Joseph was a good looking man, fit, blue eyes, chestnut hair in a shaggy cut.Steve could see little bits of himself there - the shape of his jaw, his hairline, the one dimple, even the way his ears stuck out a bit.He looked healthy, but who knew, from the outside?All signs pointed to his genetic contribution being the one that had made life so hard for Steve.Lord knew his mother hardly ever got sick.

Well, maybe he’d get the chance to ask.Steve snorted.This was so silly, but hey, it was something to do.He placed the picture between the points of the taller candles, careful not to let wax drip on it.Here went nothing.

He opened his mouth to read from the book, and then jumped when a floorboard creaked.He knocked one of the tall candles over and cursed as the flame licked instantly at the picture of his father.

“Shit!” 

“Fuck!”Another voice joined his, and so did a pair of hands, wrenching the candle upright and then bravely beating at the small flame that had claimed the corner of the picture.The fire was out as soon as it had begun, but it left Steve feeling shaky and, quite frankly, _infuriated._

“What the hell?” he demanded.Then his throat locked up; the person in front of him with his hands on his father’s picture was _gorgeous._ He had long brown hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, wide blue eyes that begged to be painted, and lips that made Steve’s mouth go dry. 

Oh, God.Not only had someone seen him doing this stupid thing, that someone was ridiculously attractive and there was no chance he’d be able to get words out now.

“I’m sorry,” the other man was saying.“I didn’t mean to spook you.”

“Um,” Steve managed.

He was looking at the picture.“This your dad?You look alike.”He looked up at Steve again.Goddamnit, those eyes.“I’m sorry I almost ruined your picture.”

“It…it’s okay,” he replied.Was it?He had no idea.He couldn’t stop staring.The other man didn’t seem to notice.He was looking around the attic, settling into the circle with Steve, careful to avoid the other still-lit candles.

“I was just checking the place out.Easier when it’s empty.”He flashed an apologetic grin.“At least I thought it was empty.”

“Do you live here?” Steve blurted, suddenly struck with the idea that this guy might be someone who wandered in off the street, because he had never seen him before.The stoners on the first floor were always leaving the door unlocked like petty theft or worse, _rape and murder,_ didn’t exist.

“I do now,” the other man said with a shrug.“Had to switch rooms.I was in a triple with these two guys who freaked when they found out I'm gay.”

Normally Steve’s brain would have exploded from the knowledge that this man was not only beautiful, but the same sexual orientation as him and therefore maybe, possibly _attainable_ , but all he heard was the casualness with which the other man tried to paint over the ugly truth.Like it didn’t hurt.

“Fuck those jerkoffs,” Steve snarled, suddenly furious for a different reason.

Those blue eyes blinked at him, surprised.

“That was a shitty of them.You shouldn’t have to pretend it wasn’t.You don’t have to here,” he went on, trying to gentle himself.His mother told him over and over again that when he got spitting mad like that, it could alienate people who didn't know he meant well.He eased up his sleeve to show the little pink triangle tattooed on the inside of his wrist.

The other man smiled and allowed it to be the tiniest bit fragile.“That’s good to hear.”A hand extended in Steve’s direction.“I’m James.But I go by Bucky.”

He took it and enjoyed its warmth; his hands were always cold.“Steve.And I go by Steve.”He flushed even as it came out of his mouth; _how_ did he always manage to sound so stupid?

Bucky just tilted his head and laughed.“Good to meet you, Steve.”

For a moment Steve could only stare at him.He’d said _nothing_ so far about the circles of candles, the spell book, or the freaking _witch hat_ Steve was still wearing.

“You don’t think this is weird?” he asked, unable to contain his suspicion.

“It’s Halloween in the Arts House,” he returned, deadpan.

Steve had to cede him the point; he’d seen weirder things in this house on regular days.There was a girl on the second floor who made sculptures out of hair.He’d personally witnessed her fishing globs of it out of the showers, which, _no_.And last semester a guy had made a giant Lite Brite that used dildos and vibrators instead of actual bulbs.Most of them lit up all the same.Steve had actually liked that piece, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t weird.Weirder, perhaps, was that they’d used it as a message board long after the show it was featured in wrapped.

“Fair enough,” Steve nodded.

“I’ll be honest, Steve,” Bucky said, and Steve had to warn himself not to enjoy the way his name sounded in Bucky’s voice, “whatever you’re doing here is way more interesting than any party I might have gone to.This is what you’re supposed to do on Halloween.”He leaned over and read the name of the spell.Then his eyes flickered to the photograph.His face fell slightly as he put two and two together.

“Your dad?” he asked again, because Steve had never really answered.

Steve nodded, nervous fingers worrying at the hem of his pants.

“Mine too,” Bucky said softly.

Steve looked up at him.“I’m sorry.”

Bucky shrugged.“I was really young.I didn’t know him.Wish I had, though.”

“Same here.He died before I was born.”He tilted his head, staring at the picture of Joseph again.“I don’t even know what his voice sounded like.”

“Like Vin Diesel, I bet,” Bucky said, somber.“Or James Earl Jones.No, no, definitely Morgan Freeman.”

Steve couldn’t stop the smile that broke out over his face at the thought.He wasn’t used to this kind of easy rapport with someone he’d just met, but he wasn’t complaining.

“Only one way to find out,” he found himself saying, waggling his eyebrows at the brunet.To his profound relief Bucky grinned and rubbed his palms together.

“Let’s get summoning.”

Steve relit the candle that had fallen over and pushed it back into formation.Bucky set the picture of his father down carefully.He didn’t expect anything as he focused on the spell book’s ornate page once again.He’d read the spell, nothing would happen, they’d laugh, and maybe, just maybe, Bucky would still take an interest in him after this odd meeting.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

Steve took a breath, and then he began to read.The words were in Latin but he didn’t stumble; he had years of Catholic school education and fighting boredom on church pews to thank for that.He could feel Bucky’s eyes on him, appreciation in his gaze, and it made him feel _confident_.That wasn’t something he felt often.His chest swelled with it and he lifted his hands, launching into the longest part of the incantation.

And that was when the candles guttered.The flames bent over, and he felt the wave of cold wash through the attic.Bucky’s eyes were wide again, exhilarated, and that was why Steve kept going.He read the last two sentences, breath puffing in front of him in the inexplicable chill.

The second he finished, the candles abruptly snuffed out. _All_ of them.They were bathed in sudden darkness, smoke twisting all around them, undulating in the meager moonlight form the window.

“Steve?” Bucky whispered. 

Steve froze, because someone - _something_ \- was lifting the hat slowly from his head.A cold touch slid through the hair that fell across his forehead.At that moment, Bucky lifted his phone and turned on the flashlight.Steve flinched at the light and Bucky gasped, letting out a curse and dropping the phone.The sound of it hitting the wood floor was impossibly loud, shattering the suspended moment.

Steve stayed where he was, too shocked to move as the hat settled back on his head and the candles in the outer circle relit in a cascade.Light danced over Bucky’s face.He was leaned back on one elbow, eyes riveted on Steve.

“Holy shit, Steve,” he said, and his voice was shaky.A grin split his face, bigger than before.“That was _amazing_.Oh my God.I was never that into performance art, but _goddamn._ ” 

It took a moment for Steve to understand that Bucky thought this was a piece of art he’d been working on.That what had just happened was showmanship.Heart in his throat, Steve choked out, “Thanks.”

Bucky leaned forward, still grinning, and plucked the hat from his head.He inspected it, probably looking for a wire.

“How did you - no, never mind, I don’t want to know, it’ll ruin the fun.”

“How’d it look?” Steve asked, like he was searching for approval and not an answer to _what the fuck had just happened._

“Ridiculous,” Bucky said.“Like this white mist was all around you, and the hat was floating over your head.”He was giddy.“That was one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen.Just _wow_.” 

“Great,” Steve replied, weak.“I think I need a drink.”

“That’s a fantastic idea.I have a pumpkin ale I’ve been saving.”He leaned over to blow out a few of the candles.They now seemed to be following natural laws and snuffed out easily.Steve got to his feet to hit the light switch, not wanting to be in the dark again.The attic lit, benign once more, the wide planks of the old hardwood floor pitted and gleaming.

Maybe he’d taken too many pills.He’d done that once before, accidentally taken a second dose of his afternoon meds not realizing he’d already taken them earlier.He started hallucinating in Intro to Graphic Design.Thank God he was an art major and some of the people in said major (not to mention some of the professors) were tripping balls on a daily basis.He’d gotten through that okay.

That had to be it.Doubled up on the pain pills for his back by accident; it had been aching the last few days, with the weather getting cooler.In that case he shouldn’t drink anything, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to turn Bucky down.A little bit of beer wouldn’t hurt.

Steve blew out the rest of the candles, slid the picture of his father into the spell book like a bookmark before closing it, and offered a shaky smile to Bucky.

“I’ll clean the rest up later.”

Bucky nodded back and headed for the stairs.At the bottom there was a pile of bags; Bucky crouched, unzipped the biggest one, and pulled out a large bottle of craft beer, the kind with a cork in it.

“Your room?” he said, a little sheepish.“I don’t really have one yet.”

“Wait, I thought you said you switched?” Steve asked, concerned.

“Uh, well, they told me to take the attic, but I don’t want to take up your studio space.”

“No, no, it’s not—”

He’d already made up his mind.“There are a lot of talentless hacks in the world and you’re clearly not one of them.I’m not taking up your space.”Bucky eyed the stairwell.“Besides, how the hell are they going to fit a bed frame up those steps?I have too much future debt tied up in this place to be sleeping on a mattress on the floor.Anyway,” he said with a conspiratorial wink, “it’s pretty clear the attic is haunted.”

Bucky had hit the nail on the head; the stairwell was narrow and very steep.There was no way furniture of any dimension was fitting up there without being sawed into pieces and reassembled.Something told him the Housing Department wasn’t going to play that game.And it damn well _might_ be haunted.

“The fuck,” Steve said, annoyance outweighing the lingering fear of what he’d experienced up there.“They should be putting you in a suite so you’re not suing anyone for harassment.”

He waved a hand, unconcerned.“I can handle a pair of idiots.”

“I know, but you should be careful.Someone got beat up last year.”

“For being gay?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah,” Steve said.Bucky didn’t have to know that Steve was the one who’d taken the beating.

“All right,” he nodded, “I’ll be careful.Though it would be nice if someday we didn’t have to worry.”

“Amen,” Steve murmured, remembering the ache of his ribs.The guys who had done it were expelled, but it was a fight; only when words like _attempted murder_ and _hate crime_ were used did the school seem to take it seriously.Their friends who remained on campus, fifth or sixth year geniuses that they were, still called him a fag whenever they spotted him.

Yeah, he really wasn’t much for parties, because alcohol amplified that kind of stupid, and stupid was never in short supply.Steve swallowed, pushing the memories away.Bucky was looking at him with a keen expression. 

“Come on,” Steve said, gesturing toward his door, which was only a few feet down the hall from the attic staircase.“Let’s have that drink.”

“You won’t be disappointed.Do you like pumpkin beer?”

“Only had it once or twice.I don’t drink much, I take medication.”He unlocked the door, still marveling at how easy it was to talk to Bucky.For a moment he was conscious of how full his laundry basket was, the mess of papers and sketches on his desk and the wall beyond it, and his pill box.But what could he do about any of it now?Bucky was already in the door.

“Oh, you draw, too?Man, when they gave out talent you must have gotten extra helpings.”

Steve hummed, desperately focusing on finding two clean glasses.His cheeks were burning and he could only pray they wouldn’t be bright pink when he turned around.That was a losing battle, though.

_Might as well embrace it, buddy._

He set the cups on top of his mini fridge and tried not to fall apart as Bucky worked at the cork.He had very nice forearms and hands.Steve wanted to draw them.That, however, was _creepy_ to ask the first time you met someone, as creepy as whatever the fuck had happened upstairs.

He looked away and his eyes fell on his bed.On the tall posts and the hollows on top of each that meant another bed could be stacked on top of it to make a bunk bed.

_Do it, Steve_. _DO IT.ASK._

“Uh.You know, I think they could stack another bed on mine.I don’t mind sharing the room, as long as you don’t mind being on top.”

Bucky turned, mirth dancing in his eyes and a slow, wicked smirk pulling at his lips.

“I don’t mind,” he said, “though I usually like the bottom.” 

Steve hadn’t even realized what he said, but he realized now and his ears flamed.He was the worst, literally the worst.

“Um.I…um…”

Bucky laughed, but it was pretty clear he hadn’t been entirely kidding, and that flummoxed Steve even more.He gave up trying to talk and accepted that for the next ten minutes he would look more like a tomato than a person.It wasn’t the first time.

“Man, you’re easy,” he chuckled.Steve knew what he meant - easy to rile up in seemingly normal conversation. 

“I was home schooled,” Steve said miserably.People usually accepted that as a reason for his awkwardness without question, though it did a terrible disservice to the perfectly functional people who were home schooled.It was just easier sometimes. 

The cork yielded with a soft pop and Bucky licked instinctively at the bit of foam that bubbled out of the pressurized bottle.Steve couldn’t help but follow the swipe of his tongue and wish it was on his skin instead of the glass.

_No awkward boners, no awkward boners, you’re not 14._

For once in his life, the worst didn’t happen.Bucky poured the amber colored beer and handed him a cup.

“Steve, I’d be honored to be on top,” he teased, lifting his glass.

“Oh, you better fuck right off before I rescind the offer,” Steve growled.

“You have a mouth like a trucker that reads the dictionary in his spare time,” Bucky snorted.“I like it.”

He was not going to think about what Bucky’s mouth was like.It went without saying that he liked it. 

“You mean it, though?” Bucky asked, a little more serious.“I can bunk with you?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“That’s really cool of you. I will take up minimal space, I swear.I’m a biochem major, I spend most of my time in the lab.”

“It won’t bother me if you’re around,” Steve shrugged, watching the foam slowly receding on the surface of his beer.“It’ll encourage me not to be such a slob.”

“You’re fine, believe me.Those other guys I lived with were disgusting.”He took a sip and made a contented sound.Steve followed suit.The beer was good; spicy, autumnal, complex.“I was a little worried,” Bucky confessed.“Didn’t know how I’d fare in a house full of artists, being a science nerd and all.”

“Art and science aren’t as different as you think.Remind me to bore you to death talking about symmetry and fractals and Fibonacci one day.”

“Please do.”Bucky sat backwards on his desk chair, leaving the bed for Steve.“Can I get a big dry erase board for that wall?”

“As long as you write lots of formulas with Greek letters on it.I like alphabets.I like _fonts_ ,” Steve confessed, well aware of how incredibly nerdy that was.

“What, like Comic Sans?”

“Fuck you.”

Bucky smiled.“You keep saying it, I’m gonna start thinking you mean it.”

Steve fought a dull ache in his chest.He wanted to say to him, _don’t flirt with me unless I actually have a chance._ Bucky was cute and really nice, as it turned out, but he’d held that kind of torch before, for the nice guy who never had any intention of moving beyond casual friendship.He didn’t think he could stand to do it again.

“I always mean what I say.Lying is a waste of time.”

“Bold statement,” Bucky said over his glass.

“Way of life,” Steve countered.

“That why you got beat up last year?” he asked casually.

_Busted._

Steve shrugged and decided to own it.“They were making comments about how they didn’t like sharing a locker room with fags and I told them not to worry, I could find better dick in a nursing home.” 

Bucky nearly spit out his beer. 

 

 

 

They parted after finishing the beer, Bucky to drag his bags in from the hall and Steve to clean things up in the attic.Steve’s nerves had evaporated; he was warm and loose and buzzing from the beer and the pleasure of Bucky’s company. 

The attic was still cold but it wasn’t well-insulated.God, had they really thought they could put Bucky up here?Assholes. 

Steve shook his head at the scene before him.His circle of candles looked like a bad episode of Charmed.It was all so silly; he must have imagined it.Nothing had happened.Nothing but wild imaginations being spooked by drafts and shadows.

He knelt down and started to gather the tea lights, dumping them in a plastic bag.He was more careful with the pillar candles; he actually liked how they smelled, some kind musk and verbena.He stuck the quick lighter in his pocket and reached for the spell book.He slid his father’s picture out of the pages and looked at it one last time.

“I tried,” he murmured.“But you probably just want to rest, huh?”

The attic was silent, sepulchral all around him.As he stared at the picture, the hair on the back of his neck prickled.He wasn’t alone.He whipped around, heart pounding, and then pressed a hand to his chest.

“Jesus, Bucky, you scared me.”

The other man blinked at him, and then said, “Who the hell is Bucky?”

Steve’s brain faltered.“That’s not - that’s not funny.”But even as he said it, he realized that while the person across from him looked a lot like Bucky, he wasn’t the same.His face had slightly different angles.His hair was short and his clothes were different.There hadn’t been enough time for Bucky to change, let alone cut his hair, and Steve didn’t think Bucky would screw with him like this.Never mind that this guy was _translucent_.

Steve’s breath misted the air in front of him in rapid little puffs.He hadn’t imagined it.Something had touched him, something had twined around him like Bucky said and lifted that hat off his head.Something pulled from another place.Steve felt panic pushing at the inside of his ribcage.He knew what that meant.He had to calm down or he risked an asthma attack. 

_Okay, so you summoned a ghost.Not the one you wanted, because God forbid something go right for you.Yeah, okay, Steve.Ghosts are real and you called this one.He seems chill.He’s not trying to murder you.Talk to him.That’s what people do, right?Talk to the spirit, find out what it wants, what it needs._

“Who,” he wheezed out, and God damn it motherfucking fuck, he was _not_ going to have an asthma attack, “who are you, then?”

The spirit looked a little bewildered.

“I’m George.George Barnes.Who are you?”


	2. Chapter 2

_You hear that, Steve?Your spirit’s name is George.Like your first goldfish when you were eight._

“S-steve,” he stammered in response to George’s question.“I’m Steve.I don’t know why…” he trailed off, trying feverishly to understand how he’d managed to summon George instead of the person he really wanted.Assuming he’d summoned a ghost at all and wasn’t just laying on the floor foaming at the mouth from a nasty case of polypharmacy.That was probably what was happening, but what could he do, either way? The hallucination was better than being lucid for an uncomfortable drug interaction, and if it wasn’t a hallucination, finding out what went wrong was the right thing to do.

The spirit tilted his head, as confused as Steve.Then he lifted a hand and pointed, and Steve couldn’t help but flinch at the movement.George gave him a look.Yup, he’d summoned a spirit with attitude, as predicted.

“That picture,” he said, exuding patience.“Is it Joey?”

Steve gaped at him.“What?”

“Joey.It looks like Joey Rogers.”

Holy _shit_. 

“That’s because it _is_ Joey Rogers,” he choked out, feeling lightheaded.“I’m Steve Rogers.His son.”

“No shit?” George asked, face lighting up.

“No shit.”

“I didn’t know Sarah was pregnant!”His smile faltered as quickly as it had come.“I don’t know if Joey knew Sarah was pregnant when he…”

Steve had to sit down.He did so on the floor, heavily, but he was so skinny it didn’t make much noise.

“My mom said he knew,” Steve replied.“Only for a few weeks, though.Never had a chance to take leave, see her belly.Never felt me kick.”

_You kicked hard enough he ought to have felt it on the other side,_ his mother said. _That’s when I knew I had a troublemaker on my hands._

“Why didn’t he tell me?” George wondered.He sat down across from Steve, as shaken by the conversation as his counterpart.

“Were you close?”

As insubstantial as he was, Steve could see his eyes go soft and fond.

“We were best friends.Grew up together in Brooklyn.He was my son’s godfather.”

Steve pressed his hands to his face and sighed.George seemed nice enough, but it was just his luck to have summoned his father’s best friend instead of his father.

“I'm sorry, George,” he said.“I was trying to call my father, not you.I’m sorry for…interrupting your afterlife?”He didn’t mean for it to sound like a question, but what the heck was the right thing to say?

“I don’t think you interrupted anything,” George replied.“The last thing I remember is dying.”

So he was a fuckup at magic and there was no afterlife.Great discoveries for the day.

“When did you…”

“1997.Joey…” he looked down at the floor.“Your dad was with me.”

“You were in the Army together?” 

“Yeah, I followed him in.He always wanted to serve, and we both wanted to be able to go to college cheap, you know?”

“I do,” Steve said, though there was no such thing as cheap college anymore.“That’s where we are.My college.”

George blinked.“Wow.You don’t look old enough to be in college.You a super genius or something?One of those kids that goes to Harvard at 14?”

“I’m 20,” he sighed.One day someone would believe him.“And this ain’t Harvard.”

George laughed.“You sound like him.I see it.I see Sarah, too.”He shook his head.“I can’t believe it.They were trying for a long time, Steve.You were so wanted.”

Oh.That hit him in some vulnerable place he didn’t know he had, and it was a minute before he could speak.

“That…that might be one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me.”

“Just sayin’ what Joey would, if he was here.”

George went quiet, and the silence stretched for so long that Steve feared he might have disappeared.When he lifted his head he was still there, staring at nothing.If what he said was true, about his last memory being death, this was all very fresh for him.George knew he was dead and didn’t seem broken up about that, per se, but the realization that time had passed, churning on without him as it inevitably did…

“Hey Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“How’s my Winnie?”

Winnie.He didn’t know a Winnie and wasn’t sure why George would expect him to.If he had to guess, she was probably his wife, but it was best not to assume.

“I’m sorry, George.I don’t know her.”

“What?” he exclaimed.“How can that be possible?She’s your mother’s best friend.”

Slowly, Steve shook his head.“I don’t…I’ve never met a Winnie.My mom’s best friend is named Diane.”

This seemed to throw George for a loop.“No.No, that can’t be right.I’m telling you, Winnie and Sarah were inseparable, even more than me and Joey.You have to know her.”His eyes went wide a second later.“Oh, no.You don’t think…what if she’s…”He rocketed to his feet.“I have to go.Do you think I can leave here?”

“I don’t know.I didn’t even think the spell was real, I have no idea what the rules are,” Steve admitted, wishing he had a better answer to give.He knew what George was thinking.If Winnie had indeed been his mother’s best friend, one of the only explanations for Steve not to know her was that she had passed away.He really, really hoped that wasn’t the case.

“I’m gonna try,” he said.“But I’ll come back if I can.Tell you all about your pops.”

“Don’t waste time on me,” Steve refuted.“Find your Winnie.And your son.”

George swallowed hard.A hybrid look of determination and concentration overtook his face and then —

He was gone.

Steve laid back on the cold wood floor, trying to process.

 

_Rule number one: ghosts are real._

 

_Rule number two: ghosts can travel._

 

_“_ Steve?”

It was Bucky, calling from the foot of the stairs.

“Be right down,” he said.

“Don’t rush, I’m just not sure where I can put things.Don’t want to mess up your system.”

Steve dragged himself to his feet and picked up the spell book.He waited until he met Bucky at the bottom of the steps to say, “There is no system, Bucky.Put your stuff wherever there’s free space.I’ll clear some drawers for you.”He frowned.“Shouldn’t Housing bring you a dresser?And a desk?”

“I”m sure that’ll cost my left kidney,” he grumbled.Just then, his phone rang.“That’s them.They must have the bed.I hope it’s the right one.”He glanced doubtfully at the lone twin bed and then ducked out the door, answering the phone as he went.

Steve blew out a breath and dropped down to his own mattress.He tucked the spell book and the candles under the bed and then he got back up to clear some drawers like he’d promised.He didn’t have a ton of clothes; there were more art supplies in those drawers than anything else.And Bucky was smarter than him.He should have been using the attic as storage and studio space all along.

It was haunted, but now he knew the ghost was friendly.For George’s sake, he really hoped Winnie was okay.Steve made a mental note to ask his mother about her the next time he was home.

As he scooped a plastic container of expensive markers out of a drawer, his eyes fell on Bucky’s school ID.It was sitting on top of his bag.He smiled; it was his freshman picture and he looked nervous and excited and entirely adorable.Then his face fell, because underneath the picture it said: JAMES BARNES, CLASS OF 2019.

Steve remembered in a rush how only thirty minutes before he thought his ghost was Bucky, and how he’d introduced himself as _George Barnes._ Oh, hell.He failed to summon his own father, but he got someone’s father, all right.That ghost was Bucky’s dad. 

Bucky hadn’t mentioned anything about his mother being gone, too, so at least George’s worries would be allayed.If he made it back, he could see his son all grown up.Bucky could get the experience Steve had hoped for.There was the tiniest pang of jealousy in his chest but he pushed it aside.At least somebody got that; Bucky didn’t deserve it any less.

He had no more time to think on it because he heard voices and the thump of footsteps coming up the stairs, and all of a sudden he had a roommate.

 

 

A few days later, Steve remembered the spell book and pulled it from beneath the bed.He flipped back to page 74, intent on re-reading, trying to see if he’d missed something, but the page was completely different than it had been on Halloween.Page 74 was now a spell for curing warts.

Of _course_ it was.

He read through the entire book, but the most exotic it got was a combination spell and poultice for reattaching a severed fingertip.It seemed like it was a compendium for fixing common household problems or ailments.Useful, but not in the way he needed.Although he did plan to try a few of them since he was a glutton for punishment.

That afternoon he made a trip back to the consignment shop to ask the woman there what she knew about the book.Now that he thought about it, she had looked at him pretty intently when he made the purchase, but Steve was used to being stared at for just a few seconds too long.Being thin and fine featured meant a lot of people perceived him as feminine, and it took them a minute to figure out if he was a lesbian, a transgendered person, or an effeminate man.Sometimes he wondered what most people settled on.At times he didn’t help himself with his wardrobe choices, but he had never cared.Life hadn’t granted him much; sue him for showing off his collarbones and his ass every now and then.

She didn’t seem surprised to see him.Then again, she seemed like the type of person who wasn’t surprised by much of anything.He asked her a few cautious questions about the book, dancing around what he really wanted to know in order to see what _she_ knew, and she saw through him immediately.

“Are you Roma, boy?”

“I’m 20,” Steve sighed automatically, like he did every time someone called him ‘boy’ or ‘kid’ or ‘son’.“And you mean Roma like Gypsy?”

“I mean Roma like Roma,” she said, sharp and narrow-eyed.

“Not that I know of,” Steve replied.“I’m Irish.”

“If you can do magic out of that book, you’re not just Irish.” 

“Well,” he said, reluctant to fess up but knowing he had to, “I tried one spell and it…kind of worked?”

She looked unimpressed.“Kind of?What does that mean?”

Here went nothing.“So, there was this spell on page 74 for summoning the dead…”

 

 

 

So that was how he learned that the summoning spell only appeared from October 31 to November 1, because only then was it possible to make contact with the spirit realm.Most didn't attempt it, thinking it unlucky - Lula, the woman at the consignment store, clearly being one of them.She had no idea why it backfired the way it did, but promised to try to find some kind of spell to reverse it.Even so, it was unlikely that said spell would work before next Halloween.George was stuck here for a while.

Before he left he caught Lula staring at him again. 

“What?” he asked.

“It takes strong magic to do what you did.You don’t look like you have it in you.” 

Steve couldn’t help himself; he glared at her, same way he always did when people underestimated him because of his size.Lula smiled at him, but it wasn’t the kind of smile that humored a person.It was delight at his reaction.

“At least,” she amended before he could launch into a tirade, “that’s what I thought at first.Now I think I wouldn’t want to get on your bad side.I’m sure you could craft a hell of a curse.”

“I’m not trying to curse anybody,” Steve scoffed.

“Good,” Lula said.“If you’re ever tempted, just remember that spells used to harm others always have consequences.Sometimes worse than the curse itself.”

“Noted.”

She gave him a look, as if trying to size up his character from twenty minutes of conversation and the set of his (crooked) back.He felt the intensity of a mother’s stare and fidgeted under her gaze.

“I’m _not_ going to curse anyone,” he insisted, annoyed at the compulsion to reassure her of his intentions.“With my luck, I’d mess it up and curse myself.”Steve frowned, struck by the thought.“Has anyone ever done that?”

“Yes.But what I’m trying to tell you is that even if you don’t mess it up, any curse you cast is a curse on you, too.”

“I got it,” he chafed.“No curses.Think I can use the spell for an ingrown toenail without it growing out my ass next time?”

Lula cracked a smile and quit her mother-henning.“Have a good day, Steve.”

 

 

 

George did come back, and it became immediately clear that Steve wasn’t the only unlucky one in this debacle.Winnie was fine, apparently living in Queens with George’s mother Elena, but neither woman could see him.He’d lingered for three days trying to make them notice him.Nothing seemed to work.When he tried to touch them his fingers just passed right through.All he could do was move small objects or try to write messages, but it only served to frighten the women - especially George’s mother, who was extremely superstitious.

Unfortunately, it was the same for Bucky.He couldn’t see George, either.Steve had to stammer out some bullshit about a malfunctioning mirror trick in his ‘performance art’ so Bucky wouldn’t think he was crazy when he tried to introduce them.That left him and George sitting on the floor of the attic like that first night, the room heavy with silence.George had cried when he saw Bucky and Steve wondered what it was like, seeing your own face in your child’s.Especially when it was a child you never had a chance to know.

 

_Rule number three: ghosts can cry._

 

“I still don’t understand,” George said at last.“You and Bucky, you should have grown up together.Why did Winnie and your mom stop talking?”

“I’ll ask her,” Steve promised.Though it wasn’t something he wanted to do over the phone, which meant it had to wait until he was home for break.

George sighed.They were both at a loss for what to do.Pop culture and urban legend said a ghost usually had a purpose, some unfinished business, but neither George nor Steve had any idea what that might be.Steve felt bad because George couldn’t go back to wherever he’d been, peaceful but unaware.He was stuck here until they figured it out.For his part, George felt bad that Steve got him instead of Joseph, that he was saddled with someone else’s ghost.

But maybe it wasn’t so bad.This way George got time to observe Bucky, to know him in some small way.Steve often looked up when his sixth sense prickled and found George in their room, intently watching Bucky.That was something they both liked to do; Steve just smiled and went back to his own work.

One time, Bucky caught him looking and smiled back, the faintest hint of a blush rising on his cheeks.

 

 

 

“Tell me about him,” Steve said one afternoon, when he was taking a break from an assignment.His back was aching and sitting at the computer wasn’t helping.

“Joey?”

“Yeah.”

George sat down even though he didn’t have an actual body in which to feel uncomfortable.He did things like that a lot, like sometimes he forgot he wasn’t alive. 

 

_Rule number four: sometimes ghosts forget they’re ghosts._

 

“What do you want to know?”

Steve shrugged.“Whatever you want to tell me.How you met, what he was like, anything.”He fiddled with his shoelace.“Mom doesn’t talk about him much, not since she got remarried.”

George’s brows rose slightly at that, but he let it pass without comment. 

“We met in Sunday school.I think we were eight.”He smiled, and Steve recognized that sly grin Bucky sometimes flashed.“We were both in time out for disrupting the class.” 

He realized pretty quickly that George had a talent for storytelling, and when he next looked at his phone, two hours had elapsed.Two hours in which Steve had learned more about his father than he had in his entire life up to this point.

“I have so many stories,” George promised.“Go, finish your paper.I’ll be here tomorrow.”

 

 

 

Every day, if he wasn’t up to his eyeballs in work, he went up to the attic to talk with George.Steve felt obligated to provide him with some sort of reason for being there.It helped that George had an endless supply of stories about the mischief he and Joseph got up to as children _and_ adults.Beyond that, he had a lot of questions about what the world was like twenty years after his death.So much had changed in a short time and Steve was happy to explain things as much as he could.

They fell into an easy routine, and Steve found himself looking forward to the time he spent with George.Sometimes, if George didn’t have any questions or had exhausted his stories for the day, Steve would read to him from the best books that had come out after his death.If Steve’s lungs were too wheezy for reading out loud, he would draw him.Steve hadn’t yet worked up the courage to ask Bucky if he could do the same.

Lula had promised to e-mail him if she came up with anything, but so far his inbox was empty. 

 

 

 

The semester was flying and both Steve and Bucky were so busy they barely saw one another outside an hour or two each night and first thing in the morning.Things were effortless as far as being roommates went; they were considerate to one another, kept the same basic schedule, and helped each other study.On the rare occasion that there was downtime, Bucky usually went out while Steve stayed in, working on art or reading or on the spells.It turned out he wasn’t terrible at the little things; he’d mouse-proofed the house, fixed several light fixtures, and silenced the loose floorboards in the hallway.The back pain spell was a work in progress.Sometimes it worked enough to let him forget about the pain, sometimes it didn’t do a damn thing.

One night, Bucky came in after his shower looking like sex on legs and smelling like it, too.

“Whoa,” Steve said, allowing himself a moment to stare appreciatively.Those jeans were doing all sorts of great things for Bucky’s ass, not to mention everything else.“What’s the occasion?”

Bucky lifted one shoulder in a shrug.“Date,” he mumbled.“I look okay?”

“Good enough to eat.”Like he’d ever be that lucky.

Bucky cocked his head to one side, and for a minute it looked like he was going to say something, but he changed his mind.He went over to the closet and rummaged until he came up with two pairs of shoes.

“Which ones should I wear?” he asked.Steve glanced at the choices: a pair of black motorcycle-style boots and a pair of expensive sneakers that weren’t meant for exercise.Both would look good, but he certainly had his preference.

“How do you want this date to end?” Steve returned, tapping his pencil against his lips.

Bucky shrugged.

Steve went back to his sketch and tried to match his level of nonchalance.They gave each other shit constantly, endless and escalating flirtation now the norm between them, so he knew Bucky wouldn’t take it the wrong way when he said, “The boots’ll definitely get you fucked nice and hard if your date has any sense.”

“Yeah?” he asked with a grin.“I should wear them around you more often.”

“You should,” Steve agreed.He didn’t think for a moment that Bucky was serious with his flirting, so he’d decided to just have fun with it.

“Maybe I will.Can I borrow your watch?”

He meant the one Steve had purchased for himself after his first big art sale.It was too big and he kept forgetting to have it resized.It fit Bucky perfectly, though, so he wasn’t in any rush; it gave him an odd little thrill, thinking of Bucky out wearing something of his.

“Yeah, top drawer.” 

Bucky slid the watch on and fastened it, and then looked at the time.“Shit, I'm late.Hair up or down?”

“You always this needy?”

“Thought you liked giving me what I need,” Bucky needled.

_I would if I ever got the chance._ Steve bit that down and said, “Up.”If he wore his hair down he’d be a little _too_ fuckable, and he wasn’t trying to give his roommate away or anything.In another two minutes Bucky had made his way out the door, hair tied back, leaving Steve to feel a little sour.Until his eyes fell on the black boots sitting by Bucky’s desk.

For the first time, Steve thought that maybe he’d misread things.

 

 

 

That feeling was reinforced when Bucky returned much earlier than he should have.It wasn’t even ten o’clock yet, and Bucky looked annoyed and stone-cold sober.

“See, you should’ve worn the boots,” Steve chided.

“No.Not worth the effort.”Bucky sat down and pulled his sneakers off and the elastic out of his hair.It fell on his shoulders in dark waves and he reflexively ran fingers through the roots.Steve wondered what it was like to have hair like that; his was baby fine, though it suited him well enough and mostly did what he wanted.

“You okay?”

“Uh-huh.Just…he was a trust-fund asshole, you know?Poured half a beer out on a homeless guy that was asking for change.”

“Seriously?”Steve could feeling his blood starting to boil at the mention of it; if he had been there, he would have fucking _decked_ the guy.And wound up in the hospital for his troubles, more likely than not.

“Yeah.”Bucky’s face grew smug.“So I poured the rest of _my_ beer on him, gave the homeless guy forty bucks, and left.”

“Oh, God, _yes!_ ” Steve cried, falling back onto his bed in mock ecstasy.Bucky laughed and threw a balled-up receipt at him.

“Well, I thought to myself, what would Steve ‘Better Dick in a Nursing Home’ Rogers do?” 

Steve sat up and set his sketchbook aside.“You forgot to punch him.I’m disappointed.”

“I didn’t forget,” Bucky protested.“I just didn’t want to get blood on your watch.”

Jesus.Bucky was fucking _perfect._ It made him bold _._  

“Put your boots on, honey.”

Bucky batted his eyelashes, but under the play-acting he was nakedly interested.Steve could see it in his eyes, surprising as it was. 

“You mean it?” 

“Didn’t I tell you I always mean what I say?” Steve returned.It was insane how easy it was with Bucky; he had never, ever felt this confident with anyone.

“You did.”

He waved a hand at Bucky, as if to say _Well then?_ Then he had to look away, hardly believing this was anything more than a dream.

“It _was_ a good thing I was wearing these,” Bucky reflected.Steve heard the thump of his sneakers as he pulled them off.“I had to haul ass out of there.”

“What’s this guy’s name?” Steve asked darkly.

“Alex Pierce.Poli sci major with a minor in economics.Wants to go to law school.”

Steve rolled his eyes.“I’m sure he’ll make a great DA someday.”

Bucky didn’t answer, and when Steve looked up he was zipping his boots.He raised his eyebrows at Steve.

“The night’s young.Wanna go out?”

“You asking me on a date, sugar?”

“I think I am,” Bucky nodded.“Anyone’s better than that last guy.”

Steve felt his heart jolt.He knew Bucky was joking, but that was exactly what he feared - being a stand-in, a person of convenience.It must have shown on his face.Bucky crossed the room to kneel in front of him, apologetic, and took hold of his arms.

“Steve, I was kidding.”

“I know,” he grumbled.He was annoyed with himself, but it was hard not to react that way when he’d been the person of convenience so many times.The man who would do in a pinch.The one no one ever called back.

“Come on,” Bucky prodded gently, thumbs tracing the skin over his biceps.“You got a pair of fuck-me boots in the closet, too?”

That brought the smile back to his face.“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Let’s see ‘em.”

Challenge accepted.Pulling himself together, Steve got up and went to the closet.It had been a long time since he went out with the intention of catching someone’s eye, and he was pretty sure now that he already had Bucky’s, but he was going to make sure he kept Bucky’s attention on him.He pulled on his best pair of skinny jeans, a black t-shirt that showed off his collarbones and the top of his chest, his Doc Martens, his favorite suspenders, and a well-worn sweater with rips in the right places.It was a strange mashup of hipster and punk, but he liked it.

So did Bucky, by the looks of things.His eyes traced over Steve’s body, lingering here and there, and he bit his lip when he got to the boots.

“That’s a pair of shit kickers, right there.”

He was right; they were made of broken-in black leather, laced up to mid-calf, and had square rivets on the back of the heel.Steve bought them when he was fifteen.Every time he wore them, he felt powerful; that was rare enough to be worth chasing.No matter that they were so heavy that they gave him shin splints. 

Steve lifted his chin.“Sometimes shit needs kicking.”

“Yes it does.”His already-shapely lips did that wicked quirk.“Think we can find Alex Pierce?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Steve huffed.

Bucky headed for the door and looked back over his shoulder.“Don’t worry, I will,” he promised, and stepped out.

Steve grabbed his jacket and followed, unable to wipe the smile off his face.


	3. Chapter 3

It was so good, being out with Bucky.Steve had forgotten what it was like to let go under the veil of dimmed lights, alcohol cool on his tongue and warm in his veins.He hadn’t really been out like this since last year.Since those shitbags left him bleeding on the floor of the men’s locker room.

He told himself it wasn’t because he was afraid.What was there for him in this kind of scene?He wasn’t supposed to drink on his meds and he’d only ever found casual hookups that scratched the itch but did nothing for his fading hope that he’d ever meet someone truly interested in him.There was acquaintance and there was sex but never the thing in between - never intimacy.So what was he really missing?

He made his way back from the bathroom and saw Bucky across the room.He was standing under a string of red Christmas lights, a beautiful statue in some strange millennial bordello.The urge to draw him was stronger than ever, twitching in his fingers.Steve was going to ask tomorrow.At the moment, though, the urge to do something else was a lot stronger.

He’d had more than enough liquid courage.He moved, one foot in front of the other, shit kickers thumping solidly into the wood but drowned out by the music.Bucky was leaned back against the wall like an offering.An offering Steve meant to take.

And then someone stepped directly into his path.He found himself staring at a chest clad in a blue polo shirt.By the time he processed what was happening he was being dragged away from Bucky, down a hall and through a door.He kicked and threw his weight against the hands that held him, but it was too late.The door clicked shut and a man stepped in front of it.A man he recognized.

Oh, fuck.It was Brock and Jack, the guys who beat him up.The ones he got expelled.He didn’t recognize the third man, olive skinned with his head shaved, but he was clearly with them.

“Well, look who finally left the Arts House,” Brock said

“More like Sharts House,” Jack quipped.“Full of shit stains.”

“I think you should look in the mirror,” Steve snarled, turning his head and trying to find somewhere to bite.No luck.It was Jack who held him, and from what Steve remembered, he thought he was some kind of hot shit amateur MMA fighter.That unfortunately meant he knew how to lock in a hold on someone much bigger and stronger than Steve.

“The mouth on this one,” Brock mused.“Should have stayed home, Rogers.”

“Yeah, we’ve been waiting for this,” Jack echoed.

“You really are the stupidest pieces of shit I’ve ever met,” Steve spat.It was a bad idea to poke the bear, he knew that, but honest to God, they were fucking dumb.“You got expelled the first time but in the real world there are consequences for assaulting someone.There’s no more collegiate court to save your asses.Hurt me and you’re going to jail.”

“You aren’t going to say a _word,_ ” Brock hissed, suddenly very close.“Because if you do, we’re going to find your little boyfriend and break his faggot face.” 

The world slowed down.Blood pounded in his ears as fear squeezed him.Bucky was stronger than him but he was outnumbered.Steve remembered the rain of fists and the agony of boots in the side, ribs shattering, so much blood on his face that he could have been in a horror movie.And that was only two of them.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Brock murmured, his voice dripping menace.“Jasper here was watching you all night.What’s his name?Bucky?”

“You lay a finger on him and I will fucking _kill you._ ”It ripped out of him, a rush from the diaphragm.He meant that, meant it with every fiber of his being.It was startling in its intensity.

“You know what you remind me of?A chihuahua barking at a rottweiler.” 

Steve barely heard him.He’d sworn that he wouldn’t curse anyone, made that promise to Lula, but right now all he wanted to do was make them feel the kind of pain they visited on him.To hell with the consequences.He’d bear them for Bucky.

“What’s it gonna be, Rogers?You gonna take it like the little bitch you are?”

He couldn’t, he _couldn’t_ , no part of him had ever been able to let someone talk to him or anyone else like that.Fighting was stitched into his DNA.He wasn’t going to stop now.Steve was dimly aware that they could kill him, but he was too angry to care.He bared his teeth, drew back, and kneed Brock in the groin as hard as he could. 

It was worth it.The shock and suffering on his face was its own reward.Brock made a sound like he was dying and crumpled. 

“You little fucker!” 

A second later Jack tossed him to the floor.He landed hard, pain lancing up his wrist.Then Jack was on him; a beefy hand wrapped around his neck.

They _were_ going to kill him. 

Steve struggled but Jack had a hundred pounds on him, easy.There was no budging him.Panic set in fast.He couldn’t breathe.He should be used to that, since asthma closed his lungs every other week, but even then he could gasp little bits of air until he found his inhaler.Nothing got past Jack’s hand now.The edges of his vision were going black and his lungs _burned_.In desperation he dug his nails into the other man’s muscled forearm and gouged. 

Jack let go with a howl and Steve managed one blessed gulp of air before he saw a fist hurtling towards him.This was it.Lights out.

Except the blow never landed.Steve gasped for air and suddenly it was so cold it made his teeth hurt.Jack’s fist was inches from his face, frozen mid-punch.Steve could see his muscles straining, his face contorting with a combination of rage and confusion.He was stuck.Something was holding him.

_George_.It had to be.

Steve scrambled to his feet, dizzy and uncoordinated, and was about to run for the door when he realized the third guy, Jasper, was still there.Not only that, Brock was starting to recover, dragging himself to his knees.Jasper was standing in his path.He cracked his neck, sighed in something like annoyance, and pulled the nastiest looking pocket knife Steve had ever seen out of his jacket.

“Stand down, Rogers,” he said in a bored tone.

Jesus, who the hell _was_ this guy?His eyes flickered around.Brock was halfway to standing, Jack had escaped his supernatural captor, and Jasper was tapping the blade against the heel of his hand like he couldn’t wait to use it.Steve was fucked.

Just as he thought it, the door burst open.It hit Jasper hard enough to knock him over, momentarily stunning him.The knife flew from his hand.Steve saw a flash of red hair and then Jack went down, too, jerking and shuddering.

Natasha, the only other student on an art scholarship, stood there, arm out, taser in hand. 

“You want a turn?” she spat at Brock.Her Russian accent was thicker when she was angry. 

Wisely, Brock held his hands up and didn’t move.

“If you come after him again, it will be my gun instead of my taser, do you understand?”

He nodded.Jack groaned from his spot on the floor.

“Ready to go, Steve?” Natasha asked, as if they were just heading out to walk to class together, which they sometimes did.

“I thought you’d never ask.”Of course the only time he could be glib was when he was literally staring down the gauntlet of death.As they walked out, Steve’s legs working on adrenaline alone, Jasper made the mistake of stirring and got Natasha’s boot in the chest for his efforts. 

The sounds of the party filtered back into his consciousness as they hit the hallway, slamming an already frantically overstimulated brain.It was hot, it smelled like booze, lights of all colors blinked around him out of sync, and there were so many people.So many people, the murmur of many voices and music thumping behind it - it would have been enough to drown out his screams.

Fuck. _Fuck._

Natasha looked back at him.The hard mask of her face slipped with concern.He must not look very good.Steve fought the hysterical urge to laugh.Breathing wasn’t getting any easier; he still felt like he had Jack’s hand around his neck.

He tried to tell her to find Bucky, but he couldn’t force the words out.His lungs were closing.He was on his way to a full-blown asthma attack and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Natasha dragged him out the door into grass stiff with frost.The cold air helped a little, but not enough to stop the panic, the feeling of trying to draw air through a straw from underwater.Her porcelain doll face swam in front of him, green eyes wide.She didn’t know what to do.

“His inhaler, he needs his inhaler!”

Oh, thank fuck.It was Bucky.His hands pushed into Steve’s pockets without hesitation, seized onto the inhaler, and dragged it out.If he was shaking while he tried to pry the lid off the mouthpiece, and if he dropped it twice before he could lift it to Steve’s lips, well, no one would judge him.He depressed the canister and Steve tried to pull in as much of the bitter mist as he could.

“How many?” Bucky asked.His voice was shaking, too.

Steve held up three fingers, willing the black spots in his vision to recede.Bucky gave him two more puffs and the straitjacket around his lungs began to ease.Steve folded forward into the grass.Bucky only allowed him the bracing cold of the earth for a moment; he pulled Steve to rest in his lap, and Steve went without protest.It left him staring at Natasha, who was sitting on her feet, still as a cat.Her shoulders were tense.

“Thank you,” he wheezed.

She shrugged and looked away.

“What the hell happened?” Bucky demanded.“Your neck - is that a _handprint_?”

Natasha’s head whipped back around.“They choked you?”She looked like she was ready to march back in there and tase Steve’s tormentors into next week.

“Who’s _they_?” Bucky nearly shouted.

“The ones who attacked him last year,” Natasha replied.“They grabbed him.I saw it.”

Bucky drew a sharp breath.“That’s why you don’t go out.Oh my God.This is my fault.”

“No,” Steve said, and Jesus, his voice sounded terrible.His denial fell on deaf ears, though.Bucky was hurtling down the tracks of the blame train at full speed.

“I have to get you out of here, get you to the hospital,” he rambled.

“Bucky, no, I’m fine—” 

“I have to keep you safe!”

And then he did the worst thing.He tried to pick Steve up princess-style.That was about all Steve could take for one night.He pushed himself out of Bucky’s arms, rage hot in his veins.

“I’m not helpless!” he shouted in his ruined voice.“I can get by on my own!”

Bucky stared at him, mouth open in shock.Natasha stood beside him, her face unreadable but without an ounce of judgment.Steve’s chest heaved with anger.His throat ached, his lungs felt like they’d been rubbed with sandpaper, and his wrist was throbbing, but none of it hurt as much as being treated like a child.

It was stupid to be mad at Bucky for it, because he didn’t know.He had no concept of the years spent fighting: his body, his mind, his doctors, the infantilization and disempowerment of people assuming he couldn’t do something rather than letting him try.Even now people didn't take him seriously because he was small and looked too adolescent to have valid ideas. 

It was no secret that he’d lose every real fight he ever found himself in, but that sure as hell didn’t mean he couldn’t or shouldn’t swing.It also meant he could take his lumps if he wanted.Nobody could stop him from failing.It was his right to fail.

He couldn’t articulate any of that, not now, so he settled for storming away and hoping they were smart enough not to follow.

 

 

 

He was pretty sure his wrist was broken.Steve wrapped it with an ace bandage and took some ibuprofen.If it was still bad in the morning he would go to the student clinic. 

Beyond that, his neck was starting to bruise.He would have to wear scarves for the next week so people wouldn’t ask questions.He hated having weakness on display, and it had taken him a long time to feel any sort of comfort in his own skin since his very being was a picture of weakness.

Sometimes he got so frustrated with it that he could scream.Tonight he _had_ screamed, at someone who didn’t deserve his wrath.Someone he thought he had a chance with.Steve knew he probably ruined it and that was just another layer to the awful situation.Now Bucky would want to move out and Steve would be alone again.

Well, Natasha was his friend.But she met a guy over the summer and didn’t have time for Steve anymore.Freshman year they were always lumped together because of the scholarships, which meant they were in most of the same classes, but this year their paths had diverged with their interests and they only had one class together.Tonight was the first time he’d seen her outside of that two-hour block on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

As embarrassing as it was to have been rescued by her - to _need_ rescue - at least she let him walk out of there on his own two feet.He was thankful for that.

He tried to settle down and sleep.Steve quickly realized he was too wound up; he felt guilty for yelling at Bucky, angry that he felt guilty because no matter his intentions, he treated Steve like a child and that wasn’t okay, and naturally there was a ball of terror low in his stomach.They came after him again.Someone tried to strangle him and nobody would have known if not for Natasha being in the right place at the right time.And when they threatened Bucky…

It was a bit of an eye-opener, realizing in that moment that he would gladly have hurt another human being to protect him.He had never felt that way about anyone before, except his family.Speaking of…

Steve kicked back the covers, pulled on his slippers, and padded upstairs to the attic.

“George?”

It took a few minutes, but eventually he blinked into being.

 

_Rule number five: ghosts can hear the calls of those close to them._

 

Steve thought that was kind of like being an angel.George snorted and told him he was no angel, then or now, when Steve voiced that.

“Steve, what the—” he began.

“Thank you,” he interrupted.

George looked confused and horrified.“For…for what?”His eyes were riveted on Steve’s neck.Shit.He forgot to put on a scarf.But why was George so surprised?He saw Jack choking him.Must have.

“For your help with the fight,” Steve said slowly.“With Jack.You stopped him.He would have knocked me out.”

A storm cloud spread over George’s face.“You were in a fight?”

“You…you weren’t there?”

George shook his head.“I was with Winnie all night.”

Steve sat down on the floor.He always meant to bring a chair up here.

“Are you all right, Steve?”

No, not really. 

“Something…someone was there.A ghost.It got cold like it always does with you, and it grabbed him.Stopped him from punching me.” 

“Steve, _who_ tried to hurt you?”

“It really wasn’t you?”

George made a frustrated sound at Steve’s evasions.He wasn’t doing it on purpose.He just couldn’t focus on anything else.If it wasn’t George who protected him, then who or _what_ was it?

“It wasn’t me,” he said.“I wish it was.I wish I could have been there.”He tried again.“Who—”

“I guess we have the same question, don’t we.”

“Tell me their names.”George’s eyes narrowed.“I want to try this haunting thing ghosts are supposed to do.”

Steve thought for a minute.It wasn’t the same as cursing someone, was it?He thought not.Lula might purse her lips at him, but at the end of the day George made his own decisions.Steve had a feeling he would discover the culprits with or without his help.

“Brock Rumlow.Jack Rollins.Jasper…”Huh.He had no idea what Jasper’s last name was.“Jasper something.Shaved head, glasses, creepy.”

“Can’t be too many Jaspers around.I’ll find him.”

“George, don’t—”

“Don’t what?” he said through his teeth.“Don’t treat them the way they treated you?”

Steve sighed.They deserved it, that much was true.But George didn’t strike him as the type, and truthfully, Steve wasn’t, either.Violent protective urges notwithstanding. 

“Just scare them.Don’t hurt them,” Steve said, sighing in irritation at his own bleeding heart.

“Oh, I’ll scare them.”George was angry, and the room was becoming downright frigid as his ire grew.Steve’s breath puffed out in front of him and he could see the windowpane begin to frost over on the inside.

“George.You’re gonna freeze me.”

“What?Oh, shit.Sorry.”He frowned, unabashedly paternal.“Steve, you should really go to a doctor.”

“Nah.Looks worse than it is.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.”

“Do people believe you when you say that?”It was clear that George didn’t.

Steve bit his lips.“Sometimes.”

“You don’t get extra points for suffering, you know.”

There was so much disapproval in his tone that Steve had to laugh.“Job got extra points for suffering.”

“I see you paid as much attention in Sunday School as me and Joey did.”

“Less, probably.I was always doodling.”

George smiled, and it was affectionate and sad at the same time.“You’re a good kid, Steve.Stay out of trouble.”

Steve just smiled back, because he already knew he was no good for that promise.

 

 

 

It was after three in the morning when Bucky stole into the room.Steve was half-asleep but woke up immediately.He didn’t move or greet him.He didn’t want the honeymoon to be over, even if it was just one more night.

Bucky stripped in the dark, got into his pajamas, and climbed up to his bunk.The springs and board above Steve creaked as he burrowed into his blankets.Steve knew the sound of him settling down like the back of his hand.He started out on his back, and in about fifteen minutes he turned over onto his side, and after that he made one or two minor adjustments in position and he was out.

He never turned.

He wasn’t asleep and neither was Steve, though they were both trying their hardest to pretend they were.A dark room full of people who were awake when they were supposed to be sleeping had a certain kind of energy.No, that wasn’t the right word.It had _tension_.

“Steve?You awake?”

He let a loaded moment pass.He wasn’t ready for this.But Bucky was brave and direct, and he deserved a response.

“Yeah, I’m awake.”

“Can I…can I come down there?”

It wasn’t even close to what Steve expected him to say.Maybe _you’re an asshole_ or _fuck you, dumbass_ or the slightly gentler _you okay, dickhead?_ Not _can I climb into bed with you?_

“Um.Yes.”

The bed creaked and Bucky’s feet swung into view, followed by the rest of him.He dropped lightly to the floor.Steve wedged himself against the wall on his side, lifting the blanket and resisting the urge to let out a string of curses at the invasion of cold air.Bucky’s furnace-warm body remedied that quickly enough.

His face was still beautiful brushed in shadows.If he never got to draw this man, he might die.It was a little dramatic, but Steve really felt that way in the moment.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he blurted.He was, even if Bucky earned it; he hadn’t done it maliciously.“You and Natasha saved my life.Sometimes I…” he trailed off, chewing his lip.He could feel Bucky watching him.“Sometimes I get mad that I need that kind of help.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Bucky whispered.“The whole thing was my fault. I made you go out.” 

“You didn’t make me go out.I wanted to.”

“But I should have known there was a reason—”

“I don’t stay in because of them,” Steve said, firm but gentle.The assault was a permanent fixture in the back of his mind, yes, but he would never allow a group of bigots to dictate how he lived.That meant they _won_. 

He met Bucky’s eyes.Even in the dark, he could see how blue they were.Bucky didn’t shy away from the eye contact.Better than that, he didn’t question Steve.

“I was scared,” Bucky admitted.“I’ve never seen someone have an asthma attack before.”

“It’s not a great look.”

He shuddered at the memory.“You were turning blue _._ ”

_Better get used to that if you’re gonna stay around, darlin’,_ Steve thought.

“You did the right thing.” 

“Not completely.”He dropped his eyes for a second, apology clear in his demeanor.

“Well, get it together, Barnes.I expect perfection,” Steve admonished.He was rewarded with Bucky’s gorgeous smile at full wattage.

“See, that’s how I know you’re actually okay.”

“Or you could just listen when I say I’m fine.”He’d been _not fine_ enough times to know the difference, that was for sure.Bucky gave him a look, and it was so like the one George had given him earlier that it was a little jarring.But then his eyes warmed and his lips trembled with repressed humor.

“What?”

“You _are_ fine _._ ”He hid his face as soon as he said it, embarrassed by the cheesy line.Apparently not enough to stop him from saying it, though.

“About time you noticed,” Steve said, all sass. 

“Believe me, Steve, I noticed.If tonight had gone better…”

Steve raised an eyebrow.“You thought we might end up in bed together?”

Bucky laughed, but he didn’t deny it.

Steve decided to throw caution to the wind; he was never going to get a better chance than this.“You know, those assholes grabbed me right when I was about to come over and kiss you.” 

“Yeah?”There was a little tremor of excitement in his voice, and a hope so pure and unexpected that need lit Steve up from the inside.

“Hell yeah.” 

Bucky’s eyes flickered to his lips and that was all it took.The band of tension between them snapped.Steve chased his words with his mouth and Bucky met him halfway, closing the distance under the blanket. 

He was warm and solid and smelled like man mixed with the last remnants of his cologne.Kissing him was a dream, his stubble a pleasant chafe, lips soft, teeth unafraid to scrape and nip.Steve responded in kind, twining their tongues in a languid dance.Bucky hummed and threw a thigh over his hip, pressing forward, letting Steve feel how hard he was already.A slight wiggle put them cock to cock and they both moved instinctively, sighing into each other’s mouths.

Oh, that was so _good_.He throbbed with the pleasure of it, of having him close, knowing that he was the reason Bucky was turned on.And he was very turned on; a moment later he whimpered at the friction and brazenly stuck a hand down Steve’s pajama pants.How he didn’t come right then, with the first few pulls of Bucky’s hand around his dick, was a mystery, because it had been too long since anybody touched him, let alone someone as beautiful and fucking _precious_ as Bucky.

He used what few brain cells he had left to reciprocate.Bucky was hard and hot in hand, thick, and Steve got lightheaded thinking about what it would be like to sit on that cock and ride him to oblivion.But Bucky said he was a bottom, didn’t he?Yes, and his mind shifted, unbidden, to Bucky beneath him, balls tight and cock curved up and weeping against the hollow of his navel as Steve fucked him.

That was a mistake.Pleasure slammed him and all of a sudden he was going to come.

“S-stop!”

Bucky did, immediately.“What?Did I hurt you?”

Steve breathed, willing the urgency of orgasm to abate.When he was able to think again, he smiled and lifted a hand, stroking his fingers through Bucky’s hair to reassure him.

“No.I just didn’t want to come so fast.It’s been a while,” he admitted.

“Doesn’t matter.”He kissed the palm of Steve’s hand.“It’s pretty hot knowing I can get you going like that.”

Understatement of the century.Steve swore softly, because Bucky slid his tongue up his thumb and then sucked the digit into his mouth.That did nothing to help calm him.

“Tease,” Steve accused, in a half-moan.

“I can be,” Bucky agreed, “if you want.”

Fuck, he wanted so much right now.“I’ll get you back.”

Bucky pressed feather-light kisses to the bruising on Steve’s neck.

“I’m counting on it.”

 

 

 

 

Steve woke sometime around one in the afternoon.Bucky was still there.They were tangled together under the blanket, naked but for their underwear because Bucky produced the most heat of anyone he’d ever shared a bed with.Steve had no complaints about that, especially this time of year.

But yes, Bucky was still there - not a dream.He was wrapped around Steve like an octopus, drooling a little on his shoulder.Steve smiled like a goddamn idiot.

For all their talk earlier this morning, they were both tired and a little too wound up to last long.That by no means lessened how amazing it felt to hit orgasm just seconds apart, eyes locked until pleasure drove them shut.Sleep had claimed them pretty quickly after that.

Steve closed his eyes and drifted.He might have dozed a little, but it wasn’t far to the surface when Bucky began to stir.

“Morning, beautiful,” Bucky said next to his ear, voice low and rough with sleep.

Steve’s stomach did a somersault. 

“Morning,” he squeaked out, breathless.“But I think it’s afternoon.”

“Same difference.”Bucky nuzzled at his neck, forgetting the bruises, and Steve wincedbut didn’t stop him.“How’re you feeling?”

“Fine.You gonna ask me that every day?”

“Yup.”

“Well, today I’m extra-fine.”

“I bet you are.”He extracted himself, but only enough to climb on top of Steve.“Were you awake long?” he asked, peering down at him.

“No.”

Bucky’s eyes caught on his chest, and his brow creased.He brushed his fingers over the scar.It was the first time he was seeing it; it was too dark last night.

“Heart surgery?” 

“Yeah, when I was four.I don’t remember it, thank God.”

Bucky gave a slight nod, indicating his agreement.“Wish I could say the same.”

Now Steve could see that he had scars, too, all over his left arm.He’d noticed the one on his forearm before, but they got worse above his elbow.He thought he felt something last night in the course of his groping, but again, it was too dark to see and it really wasn’t the first thing on his mind.

“Burns?” Steve asked.He had seen other kids at the hospital with burns and knew what they looked like when they healed.

Bucky nodded.“It was a car accident.Fuel tank went up and a cop pulled my mom and me out just in time.She broke her leg, I got burnt.It could’ve been worse.”

“Still sucks.”

“Yeah, it did.”

Steve kissed the fibrous skin of his bicep, watching his face to make sure the touch was welcome.The only thing he saw was the same building heat as last night.

“Need me to take your mind off it?”

“Mmm,” Bucky said.“That would be nice.”

 

 

 

And everything was _perfect._ They were naked, taking their time, better rested than last night and in better control, and Steve was thinking about where the hell he’d stashed his condoms when all of a sudden he heard a voice.

“Aww, c’mon, kid, in Steve’s bed?”

Oh no. 

That was George.

Bucky was still on top of Steve, and they were still mostly under the blanket.Clearly it was so far outside the realm of George’s imaginings that Bucky might actually be with _Steve_ that he assumed his son was getting frisky with some other petite blond, or _blonde,_ in Steve’s bed. 

George had no idea that Steve was gay.It had never come up.He was willing to bet that he was similarly unaware of Bucky’s preferences.This would be quite the reveal if George figured it out.  Steve felt sick.

_Go away, George, go away, give your son some privacy!_

Bucky pulled back to sit on his heels, taking the blanket with him.  

"Steve?"

Oh, _no._

Bucky was staring at him.But now so was George.And the room was getting very, very cold.

Shit.


	4. Chapter 4

“What the _hell_?”

It was Bucky who said it, because things had begun to _float_ all around them and the air was cold enough to bite.In the middle of it stood George, radiant, but only to Steve’s eyes.Steve had no idea what he was supposed to do; if George was offended or worse, _homophobic,_ nothing he said would make a difference.In fact, it would likely make Bucky think he’d lost his mind, talking to an empty room.

But one thing that definitely wouldn’t help defuse the situation was staying naked.It was shocking for any parent to walk in on their child in the act, and moreso if their partner wasn’t who you expected.The fewer dicks on display, the better.Steve snaked out from under Bucky, for once grateful that he was skinny and flexible enough to do so.He was tugging his boxer briefs on when Bucky snapped to attention.

“Steve, what are you doing?” 

“Stay here.”

“Steve—”His eyes flickered back out to the room, breath puffing from kiss-bitten lips.His skin was riddled with goosebumps.Steve pulled the blanket around him and rolled off the bed.

He didn’t look to see if George was following him.He went straight for the door, intending to go up to the attic where they could actually talk, but when he got there the handle wouldn’t budge.He sighed, then turned.

_I guess we’re doing this here_.

He couldn’t quite decipher the look on George’s face.The air felt thick and charged with potential.Though the hair on the back of his neck stood on end, Steve refused to be afraid.If every warm feeling and positive thought George had for him disappeared because of this - if he abandoned his _son_ because of this - George wasn’t the man he thought he was. 

“He’s a consenting adult,” Steve said softly.“So am I.And this is who we are.”He took a step toward George.The ghost was breathing hard, chest heaving; so strange, that the habits of life persisted in death.“If that changes things…then…” Steve’s voice caught, because he felt unexpectedly emotional at the thought of losing George’s presence in his life.But he had to finish strong, because he would never apologize for who he was or what he liked.“Then I’m glad I got the chance to know you, and I hope you find your way.”

George reacted as if he’d been slapped, taking a step back.His face seemed to be processing emotions two at a time.His hand clenched and rose;Steve forced himself not to move even though he was sure George was about to hurl something at him.He didn’t, though.He just opened his mouth to yell.

But in the end, he didn’t do that, either.He snapped his mouth shut, and then he disappeared.It was forceful this time, like a vacuum sucking the air from the room, and Steve had to brace himself on Bucky’s desk to keep from falling over.Everything that was floating in the air fell back to earth with a clatter.Including Steve’s watch, which Bucky had carefully set on his desk.

Steve picked it up with shaking hands.The face was shattered.That felt like a punch to the gut.

Bucky swam into his vision a moment later.His ice-cold hands took the watch from Steve’s gently.

“We’ll fix it,” he said, pushing Steve’s fringe out of his face.He seemed remarkably calm, considering what he’d just witnessed.Steve nodded and let Bucky lead him back to the bed.They sat side by side, shivering, though George had taken most of the cold air with him in his departure.

“Hey Steve?”

“Hm,” he acknowledged.

“That wasn’t one of your performance art tricks, was it?”

Steve was struck with the bizarre urge to laugh.What kind of asshole would do that to someone they liked in the middle of sex?It seemed like a surefire way to never have sex with that person again.

“No, Buck,” he answered.He tilted his head back, letting his neck slacken as he confessed.It pulled at the bruised skin.“I don’t do performance art.”

“Jesus,” Bucky said.“Then Halloween…”

“Yeah.”

“This place really _is_ haunted.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you’re actually a witch.”

“Not a very good one,” Steve murmured.

Bucky was silent for a few minutes, processing.Then he nudged Steve in the ribs.Steve met his eyes, expecting to see rejection, but Bucky was looking at him with some kind of awe.

“I could hear you up in the attic talking to someone.I assumed you were on the phone.”He slapped himself on the forehead.“Steve, I thought you had a boyfriend.That’s why I never made a move until last night.I thought you were spoken for, that you just flirted back at me for fun.”

“I did,” Steve said, “‘cause I didn’t think there was a chance in hell you were actually interested.”

“Are you crazy?I wanted to kiss you ten minutes after I met you.”

“I wanted to kiss you ten _seconds_ after I met you.”

“Whatever,” Bucky snorted, hiding a smile.“It’s not a contest.”He shook his head.“So you were upstairs talking to the ghost?”

“Yeah.”

Bucky’s eyes widened as he remembered something. “Wait!Weren’t you trying to summon your dad?Is he - was that - Christ, did your dad just walk in on us?”He tilted his head, ever the science nerd.“Do ghosts _walk_?”

Oh, heaven help him, this was happening.

“Um.Well, I’ve noticed that ghosts move like regular living people, like they forget they don’t have a physical body.Just…replaying the scripts of being alive, I guess.”

Bucky blinked at him like he said something profound.“And—and the other question?”

Steve tried not to cringe.“So, you know how I just said I’m not the best at the witch stuff?”At Bucky’s nod, he plowed ahead.“I didn’t summon my father.I summoned yours.”

_“What?”_ It came out of him in a rush of air.He looked like he couldn’t replace it as more things fell into place in his brain.“Oh,” he said, breathless.“You tried to introduce us, that day with the broken mirror trick.Steve.I…I can’t see him?”

“No.”He didn’t bother to hide his regret at that.“Neither can your mother or grandmother.Just me.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s _cruel_ ,” Bucky said, equal parts furious, sad, and indignant.

_Don’t I know it._

He reached for Bucky’s hands and clasped them in his own.He was already warming up.Steve’s hands were still frost-nipped and probably would be for the rest of the day unless he took a shower.

Bucky sighed.“I thought it was just drafty in here, but it was him, wasn’t it?Visiting?”

“Yes.He likes to watch you study.Says you’re smarter than he ever was.”It was his turn to tuck Bucky’s hair out of his face.“He’s very proud of you.” 

Bucky wasn’t like Steve.When Steve cried, he tried to hide it from others.Most of the time he tried not to cry at all.But Bucky’s eyes welled and he didn’t retreat from it; he let the tears fall.Steve noticed, not for the first time, that he had beautiful eyelashes.

“Maybe he was,” he sniffled.“Not anymore, not after what just happened.”

Steve bit down on the things he wanted to say.It didn’t stop him from thinking: _fuck him if he’s too narrow minded to love you as you are._ But what was this current of shame now rising up to control his tears?Bucky was pretty unapologetically out on campus and had never shown this kind of self-reproach.

“Bucky, I think he was just shocked,” Steve said, knowing he had to be optimistic for Bucky’s sake.“He needs time, that’s all.”

Bucky took a shuddering breath, but a moment later he set his shoulders.He met Steve’s eyes and blinked the tears out of his own.

“It’s just funny.I never thought it would matter if my father accepted me or not, because I didn’t have a father.”He reached for a tissue and dried his eyes. 

Steve understood that sentiment with such clarity; in the process of coming out he wondered whether his father would have been okay with it on many occasions.It shouldn’t matter, but it did.And whether he meant for it to happen or not, George had become a sort of substitute father figure for him.Bucky wasn’t the only one worried about his opinion.

“I meant to ask you,” Bucky said, “did your mom remarry?”

“Yeah, some lawyer guy named Tom.He’s nice enough.He doesn’t get it, but he doesn’t judge.”Steve squeezed Bucky’s hand.“It’s sort of like living with someone who speaks a different language.You never understand each other but you can exist together.”

“Sounds lonely.”

“Nah.My mom’s there, and he makes her happy.That’s what matters.”

Bucky offered a fragile smile.“I think I’d like to meet your mom, someday.”

“I think you’ll get that chance.”For a long moment he was lost in Bucky’s eyes, in the thing unspoken, but then he remembered.“Oh.By the way, our parents knew each other.”

The next hour flew by, the two of them facing each other on the narrow twin mattress like it was a sleepover and they were ten, Steve relating everything George had shared to Bucky.Bucky listened raptly.It was clear, though, that he had the same questions as George.Why, if their parents had been so close, had they never met until now?And why weren’t their mothers on speaking terms?

“Maybe that’s what he’s here for,” Bucky postulated.“To reunite them.”

Steve raised an eyebrow.“Through me?”

“Possibly.”

It seemed an odd mechanism.But it wasn’t any stranger than anything else that had happened, so far.That reminded Steve of how calm and accepting Bucky was of this madness - a little too much, as far as Steve’s cynical brain was concerned.

“You’re…really unfazed by all of this,” he said carefully.

“What, the witch stuff?”Bucky huffed a laugh.“Steve, I come from a family of gypsies.Growing up, my grandmother was always doing rituals and casting spells.I think it’s weird when people _don’t_ believe in witchcraft and the supernatural.”

“Have you ever done it?”

He frowned.“No.My grandmother always said a family only needs one witch.”

Steve mirrored his frown.That struck him as a strange sentiment, but what did he know about it?“Maybe we should ask her why I got the wrong ghost.She’d probably know the answer.”

“She might,” Bucky mused.He smiled a real smile for the first time in several hours.“So maybe you’re a little bit Roma, underneath those freckles?”

“Or maybe I'm a Druid,” Steve responded pertly.

Bucky laughed and leaned in to kiss him.“I’ll take you either way.”

“That’s big of you.”

“Mm.I got something big for ya, all right.”

And that, of course, was when Natasha knocked on the door.

“Steve?James?Are you well?”

She said things like that sometimes, overly formal.She knocked again.Steve sighed.Clearly they were not meant to consummate this thing today.

“Just a minute,” he said.He pulled on pajama pants and a sweater and opened the door.She stood there looking drop-dead gorgeous in gray skinny jeans, a navy blue sweater that showed one shoulder, and ankle boots.

She pushed air through her teeth in something like a hiss.“Your neck.I will kill them.”

“I’m _fine_ , Nat.”

She pursed her lips at him and then looked past him, to where Bucky still sat on the bed wrapped in blankets.“Now I see why you’re late.”

Bucky pulled a face.“It can’t be 3:30 already.”

“Three-thirty-seven,” she retorted, looking aggrieved.“Get dressed, both of you.We’re going for food.”

 

 

 

Bucky and Natasha had already met outside of their connection to Steve; apparently Bucky even knew Clint, Natasha’s boyfriend, on account of sharing a class with him.But now that they were firmly together in Steve’s corner, Steve felt like he was in for trouble.

_Whatever gave you that idea, Rogers?The fact that they made a lunch date to strategize how to get you to talk to them again?_

“Turns out all I had to do was get a little handsy,” Bucky said over his coffee, smug.Steve turned twenty shades of red.

“Oh, yes, and I’m sure you got nothing out of that,” Natasha sniped.

Bucky shrugged, but the rise of blood to his cheeks betrayed him.

“Will you _please_ take that off,” Natasha said, turning to Steve.She meant his scarf.If he was honest, he was a little warm because he’d picked the wool one and they were close to the kitchen, but he wanted more than anything to just eat his 4 pm pancakes without people staring.

He also knew Natasha, though.As stunning and talented as she was, she didn’t have many friends because there was an intensity about her that most people found either intimidating or off-putting.She didn’t mince words, she didn’t hide expressions, and she sure as hell did not fake interest for anyone or anything.

The scholarship had pushed them together, but art kept them together.He loved her art.It was beautiful and violent; it took harmless things and gave them menace.If you thought too much about it, it made you queasy.That was what art was supposed to do - provoke thought and emotion.He didn’t see how his art measured up to hers, but she had nothing but praise for him, and even bought one of his pieces.Artistically, they learned a lot from each other; Natasha how to soften things, and Steve how to challenge the viewer with line and form.

With that kind of innate understanding came trust.He told Natasha things he never told anyone, and he knew for a fact no one but Clint knew a lot of the things she told him.In the end, that was why he eased the scarf from his neck and set it next to him in the booth.

“Thank you,” she said, clipped.She went back to her own pancakes - banana walnut - but mostly she just pushed them around the plate.

Bucky watched her for a moment, picking up on the fact that there was something else going on.He looked at Steve.Steve shook his head.If Natasha wanted to share, she would.It wasn’t for him to fill in the blanks.However, there was one thing that nagged at him.

“Nat, do you really own a gun?” he asked.The taser was one thing, but last night she specifically stated _next time it will be my gun._

“I own three.And a Bowie knife.”

“Are they _here_?”He meant on campus - in her room.

“One gun.One knife.Two tasers.”

“Two tasers?” Bucky inquired.

“Yes.One for my school bag, one for my purse,” she said, as if it was so obvious only a simpleton wouldn’t understand.

“The mob after you?” he joked.

She ignored him.“Steve, you should report them.”

“No, that will just make it worse,” Steve sighed.He dealt with bullies his whole life.He knew that without distance and guaranteed consequences, telling on them only made them more determined to make his life a living hell.He already told on them once, and look what it got him.

“How?What is worse than someone strangling you?”He imagined this was how she looked when she painted, eyes blazing, face bloodless.“They could have killed you.”

He had no response to that, because she was right.It wouldn’t take much.A brutal punch, a bad landing, Jack’s hand on his neck just a little too long; Steve was no stranger to encounters with his mortality but this was a different sort.

“If they hurt one person,” Natasha went on, and she was gripping her silverware so hard her knuckles were white, “they hurt others.Those others may not be able to tell.”She was so tightly wound that Steve sincerely hoped the hapless waiter didn’t choose this moment to come by and refill their waters; Natasha looked like she might stab someone in the jugular with the butter knife if they spooked her.

And she wasn’t wrong.Steve sighed and looked at Bucky, even though he knew he’d find no help there.Predictably, Bucky gave him those soulful blue eyes and said,

“I kind of agree with her, Steve.”

So that was how he found himself first at the police station, and then at the hospital where they x-rayed his wrist and his neck.His neck was fine, but his wrist was actually broken - distal radius fracture, they said - and one cast and a trip to the pharmacy later, they were back at the Arts House.

“Wait,” Natasha said.“Come to my room.”

“Nat, I’m hungry,” Steve whined.It had taken so long to file the police report and sit in the ER that they were all more than ready for their next meal.

“I know, I’ll order something.”She raised a judgmental eyebrow at him as she unlocked her door.“For a small man, you eat a lot.You are - what is the saying?Bottomless pit?”

“Don’t say that, if he doesn’t eat three times more than a normal human he’ll disappear,” Bucky spoke up.“The pit will consume him.”

“You like to deny it, Barnes, but you belong here with the rest of us weirdos,” Steve muttered.

Natasha tossed her phone at Bucky.“Order.”Then she looked at Steve.“Shirt off.Sit there.”She pointed at her desk chair.

“What?”

“I’m painting you.”

“With my shirt off?”

“Yes.Come on, you drew me with my shirt off.”

Bucky’s head jerked up at that, but he didn’t say anything.Once again Natasha was right, so he pulled his shirt over his head and sat on the chair.

“No.Other way.”

Restraining a sigh, Steve turned the chair around, so he was astride it backwards.“What now?”

She was in the middle of setting up her easel and canvas.“Do whatever feels natural.”

Steve set one foot on the edge of her bookshelf, more for his back than anything else.Then propped his casted arm on the back of the chair at the elbow, elevating it because that was what they said he should do to help control the swelling; it throbbed persistently inside the cast.Steve didn’t really notice.His threshold for pain was much higher than most.The pain meds they prescribed him at the ER were weaker than what he took on a daily basis for his back. 

Last but not least, he popped his middle finger up and leveled a wicked grin at his audience.He didn’t expect Natasha to smile back, crack her knuckles, and say, “Perfect.”

 

 

Two things happened the next day.One, Natasha delivered a ridiculously incredible painting of Steve to their door, and two, around 9:00 in the evening, the marker that sat on the ledge of Bucky’s dry erase board floated into the air and uncapped itself.

“Bucky.”

He looked up from his textbook and followed Steve’s outstretched arm.“Oh!Is he here?”

“I don’t see him, but someone’s doing that.”

As they watched, the marker began to write.

_ATTIC,_ it spelled out. 

“He wants us to meet him up there!” Bucky said, excitement in his voice.

Steve had to chuckle.George was probably going to avoid this room for all he was worth after what he’d seen.He did appreciate it, though.This was the ghostly equivalent of knocking on the door.

“Then let’s meet him.”

He very kindly did not make fun of Bucky for almost tripping over his own feet in his haste.He wasn’t sure the courtesy would have been extended the other way, but that was part of what he liked about Bucky.

It was cold at the top of the stairwell, and in the dark George’s silhouette gave off a faint glow.His posture was tight and he looked…well, he looked nervous as hell.In some ways that was a good thing, but it also promised that a highly awkward conversation awaited them.Steve didn’t mind.Even awkward conversation was far better than never seeing or hearing from George again. 

Bucky slipped his hand into Steve’s, not, he thought, to flaunt it in front of George, but for some kind of grounding.Imagine that.Hot-tempered Steve Rogers, grounding someone. 

“Good to see you,” Steve said, offering a smile. 

“Steve,” George started, stiff, “I hope I didn’t, uh, interrupt anything.”

He wanted so badly to say _well, we have to come up for air sometime_ , but that would just be mean.For all his piss and vinegar, he did try to be nice to people most of the time, and George looked _so_ uncomfortable.

“No, we were just studying.”

“Ok,” he said.“I…I’m really sorry about.Um.You know.”

“It’s fine.Nothing to worry about.”Steve chewed his lip as an idea came to him.“Hey George?Can we go back downstairs to the room?If you write on the white board like you did to get us up here, you can talk to both of us instead of just me.”

“Bucky knows about me?”

Steve held in a laugh; how else was he supposed to explain the manifestations the other day?Maybe someone out there was a much better liar than him.It had never even crossed his mind to lie about something so improbable.

“Well, he’s not just here to look pretty,” Steve couldn’t resist responding.“Yes, he knows about you.”

Bucky _beamed_ at him, and the expression that crossed George’s face a second later was almost identical.The Barnes genes were strong. 

“Let’s get down there, then,” he said.

Steve nudged Bucky back toward the stairs and he could feel him vibrating with nervous energy.He didn’t blame him; this was a pretty complicated subject for your first-ever conversation with your father.

It would be a slow conversation, half verbal and half in writing, but Steve didn’t mind.

 

 

 

They were with George for almost 3 hours.He had a lot of questions.Apparently he had never met a gay person before and didn’t know true from false.The first falsehood being that he’d never met a gay person; statistically speaking, he had, he just didn’t know it.Lesson one: people were themselves first, gay second, and that meant that gay people didn’t fit any one stereotype.They were whoever they were and happened to like people of the same sex instead of the opposite.

Beyond that, Steve and Bucky painstakingly explained the difference between a “lifestyle choice” and being _born this way_ , that anyone could get HIV or AIDS, not just gay men, that said condition was both avoidable with protection and easily treatable now, and yes, sex did feel good for both partners.Bucky cringed away from actual anatomy talk, which was funny because he was the science nerd.Steve wasn’t afraid to talk about it in his stead.The more people knew, the less ignorance there was in the world. 

“Well,” George said, embarrassed but powering through, “I kinda figured that if people want to do it, it must feel good.”He uncapped the marker and wrote: _When did you know?_

“When I was seven,” Bucky said.“I had a crush on He-Man.Wanted him to be my boyfriend.”

“That is _amazing_ ,” Steve snorted.There was so much trolling material he couldn’t stand it.

“No, what was amazing was the look on my mother’s face when I told her that.”Bucky smiled fondly.“You know, she never discouraged me.Just told me I couldn’t have a boyfriend until I was 14, and that He-Man wasn’t real but it would be good to find someone that was smart and kind like him.”

Steve made eyes at him and flexed a pathetic bicep.“I have the power!”

Bucky rolled his eyes.“I said smart and kind, punk, so you’re out.”He pinched Steve on the arm.

Steve rubbed the sore spot, pouting at him.“Jerk.”

“Let’s hear your story, Steve,” he retorted.

“Not as cute,” he shrugged.“I was twelve.I fell for my nurse at the children’s hospital.”

“Aww.”

_What were you in the hospital for?_ George scrawled on the board.

“Oh.I had surgery on my spine for the scoliosis.Believe it or not, it’s straighter than it used to be.Unlike the rest of me.”

“Tell me about your dreamboat nurse,” Bucky said, propping his chin in his hand.

“He _was_ a dreamboat.Probably still is.”Steve smiled; he hadn’t thought about Sam in a long time.“I knew him before the surgery.Let’s just say I was what the hospitals call a frequent flyer.So, Sam was my nurse a few other times.Gorgeous guy, amazing gap-toothed smile.Like a ray of sunshine.Absolutely perfect for the job, I swear.He always knew how to cheer me up.”Steve breathed a laugh.“Poor guy.The hormonal ones probably fall for him all the time.Girls and boys.And probably some of their moms.”

“He sounds as amazing as He-Man.”

“Absolutely.”

_How’d your Mom take it?_ George wrote.Bucky leveled a curious stare at him once he read the question.

“I didn’t tell her.Not about Sam, anyway.”

“Why not?”

Steve shrugged and picked at imaginary lint.“She had just met Tom.I didn’t want to ruin things for her.It’s bad enough she had a sick, moody teenager he had to pretend to put up with.Didn’t want to add gay to the mix.I was convinced it would be too much and they’d break up and I’d be the reason my mom was sad and alone.”

“If that had happened, this _Tom_ guy would be the reason,” George said, glaring daggers.

“He’s not so bad, George.He stuck around after I finally did come out, when I was sixteen.He loves Mom.”

“He’s no Joey,” George scoffed.

“Can’t argue that.”

“So how did she take it when you came out?” Bucky asked.

“She was a little shocked.Had to talk to the priest and all.Thank God he was a Jesuit.”

“Sarah wouldn't let anyone say a bad word about you, Steve.Priest or not.Same for your dad,” George assured him.

“I think she was scared for me.Like I didn’t have enough going on, you know?”

George’s brow was furrowed in thought.He uncapped the marker - the room was starting to reek of dry-erase marker fumes - and wrote out a question even though he looked like he already knew the answer.

_Did those men attack you because you’re gay?_

“Yes.Well, that and I don’t know how to keep my mouth shut.”

George capped the marker and set it down in a brisk movement.“Excuse me for a bit.”Then he blinked out of sight.Steve had a feeling he knew where George was going.

It only took a few seconds for Bucky to catch on.

“He left?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Steve fidgeted.“Um.I may or may not have given him permission to haunt those jerkoffs.”

Bucky’s lips trembled and then he burst out laughing.He was stunning when he laughed; his eyes crinkled and watered, his cheeks flushed, and the muscles of his abs clenched beneath his shirt.Steve’s chest tightened with the combination of lust and emotion that he thought might properly be defined as passion.It robbed his breath for a moment.

“Steve Rogers,” Bucky said, wiping the corners of his eyes, “you are something else.”

“I try,” he said absently.Steve was riveted on Bucky, every nerve in his body wanting him.Perhaps not that surprising, since they’d spent the last few hours talking about sex in one way or another.Easily the weirdest kind of foreplay he’d ever engaged in.Effective, nonetheless; it was all he could think about.

Bucky’s smile faded as he picked up on it.Not in a bad way.Just…awareness.An echo of his own state.His eyes went to Steve’s lips again, like they had a few nights ago just before they kissed for the first time.

“We are going to scar him for eternity if he walks in on us again,” he said, shifting forward in his chair.The concern in his voice was insincere, if the look on his face was anything to go by.He looked like a cat about to pounce.

“I think he learned his lesson.”Steve was moving even as he said it, sliding into Bucky’s lap.“His fault if he makes the same mistake twice.” 

“Twist my arm.”

He twisted a hand into the hair at the base of Bucky’s neck instead, tilting his head back.Bucky drew a sharp breath and his lashes dipped.It wasn’t often that Steve got to look down at someone he was about to kiss.Bucky’s lips were full and pink and… _his_.

He kissed him hard.Bucky met him eagerly, his arms threading around Steve.Steve plundered his mouth until he was dizzy, and when he tried to pull away for breath, Bucky’s teeth held on to his lower lip.Oh, God, this man.

“If anyone knocks on that door I’m going to have to go downstairs and get Natasha’s gun,” Steve said.

“I’ll be right behind you with the taser,” Bucky murmured, before tugging him back into another kiss. 

 

 

He couldn’t breathe, but for once he didn’t mind.He was laying on top of Bucky, dazed, sweaty, listening to his heart gallop in his chest as they came down.That was…that was better than he ever imagined.

He’d gone down on Bucky first, but not before stripping his shirt off so he could kiss down those shifting muscles.Then he genuflected, tugging Bucky’s hips forward so it would be easier to free him from his clothing.A little worship to the curved heat trapped behind his zipper had him biting his lip and breathing hard in anticipation.He wasn’t the only one.

Bucky proved to be a mouthful.Steve didn’t mind.He smelled divine, tasted hot and clean and a little bit salty.This had always turned Steve on.People often thought the person being pleasured was in control, but Steve made it a point to be the one running the show, and he was certain Bucky knew it. _Wanted_ it.That had him so hard he ached in the confines of his jeans.

He lost himself in it for a few minutes, tracing veins with his tongue, sucking on the head until Bucky whined, chasing every little twitch.Eventually Bucky tugged at his hair and he looked half-undone when Steve surfaced.The urge to push him over the edge was powerful, and Steve would have done it, except that Bucky pulled him up for a kiss and whispered in his ear,

“I want to come with you inside me.”

He wouldn’t have said no to that for anything.He led Bucky to the bed, head full of the most beautiful white noise.With anyone else he would have felt nervous, scared that he wouldn’t last or that he’d screw up somehow.That never crossed his mind with Bucky.He took his time, prepped him with his fingers until he shook and little pinpricks of sweat glistened at his temples ( _please, Steve, I’m ready, please)._ Then the condom, a shift and a slow push, and…

“That was the first time,” he said.

Bucky blinked, slowly emerging from the pleasure-coma that had overtaken him.

“What?Like…first time having sex?”

“No,” Steve laughed.He felt giddy and his laugh was strange and weightless.“First time on top.”

“Seriously?”Bucky propped up on one elbow to stare at him in disbelief.

“Seriously.”

“Why?You’re not into it?”

Steve resisted the urge to laugh again.“I am _so_ into it.Just, none of my partners were, before you.”He shrugged.Sometimes he felt sad or angry about what he was going to say next, but right now he was too elated to care.“People see me and they assume.I kind of scream twink, you know?The few guys who were interested in me - that’s what they wanted, and beggars can’t be choosers.”Steve blinked.He’d never talked through this out loud before and it sounded bad.“I still enjoyed it,” he clarified.That probably didn’t make it sound any better, so he gave up.

“You’re _kidding me_ ,” Bucky growled.“No, that is so not you, and what the - what the fuck, how do you just profile someone like that?”Bucky was angry on his behalf, eyes sparking.“Did you ask?Tell them what you wanted?”

“Sometimes.”

“And they said no?”

“Yes.”It was either a flat-out no, or a promise to try it another time that never seemed to materialize.That was why he tried not to let himself get invested; he knew that a person who consistently ignored his desires in favor of their own wasn’t someone to keep around long-term.That didn’t mean he didn’t have a libido or crave physical closeness, and if someone else did, too, it was silly to deny the opportunity based purely on that. 

So he didn’t make an issue of it.It wasn’t the worst way to live.He was, however, starting to wish he’d never said anything.If he thought about it too much, it inevitably made him feel like shit, and he didn’t want anything to spoil this experience.

Bucky leaned over to plant a forceful kiss on Steve, giving him a different brand of tongue-lashing than the one he so clearly wanted to give to Steve’s partners of the past.Bucky was a hell of a kisser, and it was incredibly sexy, somehow, that he was so bothered.It had Steve’s cock trying to fill again.It would be a little while, though.His blood pressure medication didn’t let him bounce back as quickly as most men his age.

Bucky pulled back and stared at him with a crease between his brows. 

“It’s their loss,” he said fiercely. 

“Damn right it is,” Steve agreed.

Bucky poked his index finger into Steve’s chest.“If you ever want me to fuck you, you say so and it’ll happen.”

Steve couldn’t imagine needing that, not after what they’d just done.He was still high on it.The overwhelming sensation of being inside Bucky, the pressure of strong legs wrapped around him, the sight and sound and feel of him climaxing - it was so enrapturing. But the offer was sweet and he knew that Bucky meant what he said.

“I’m kind of glad,” he murmured.

“Hmm?”

“I’m glad it was someone as amazing as you.”He stroked Bucky’s face.“Worth the wait.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re a sap?”His voice mocked, but his cheeks were flushed and his eyes were full of exhilaration he couldn’t mask.

“No.”His best friend from high school, Peggy, once told him he was dramatic, but that was as close as it got.

“Well, I’m tellin’ ya.”

Dear Lord, they were actually staring into one another’s eyes.This was ridiculous.

Steve couldn’t resist a retort.“Takes one to know one.”

“Such a punk.An unoriginal one, too.Come here.”

Steve went, and Bucky kissed him, sweetly at first.He coaxed Steve’s body awake again, patient in a way others never were.Then he kissed his way down the slim angles of Steve’s chest and belly and returned the favor from earlier, plush lips sliding up and down his shaft with an unhurried determination that drove Steve absolutely crazy.When Bucky finally gave up his teasing and pushed him to come, he felt like his mind was fracturing with pleasure, and it took a long time to gather up the pieces.

 

 

 

He woke, sleepy and sated, in Bucky’s arms.It was early.Steve didn’t notice at first, but as Bucky breathed steadily next to him and the sun crept in, casting a narrow beam on the wall by Bucky’s dry erase board, he saw it.Blue marker, George’s handwriting.

 

_Love you both_. 


	5. Chapter 5

The semester was spiraling to a close, drowning both Steve and Bucky in work.Even so, they couldn't keep their hands off one another.Everyone needed study breaks, Bucky reasoned; all the better if they happened to be naked ones.

They were recovering from just such a break when Steve’s phone rang.Cursing and groping followed, for it had fallen between the bed and the wall in their eagerness and even Steve’s skinny arm couldn’t fit to reach it without moving the stacked beds.By the time they retrieved the phone it had gone to voicemail.Steve didn’t recognize the number in his missed calls, but it was probably important if they bothered to leave a message.

He played it while Bucky mouthed at his nipple.Clearly he wasn’t done with their study break.Christ, that felt good.

“Hello, Mr. Rogers, this is Officer Coulson over at the police station.Please give us a call back as soon as possible, there’s been a development related to the police report you filed a few weeks ago.”

He tapped Bucky on the cheek.“Hey.Stop for a second.That was the police.”

His head shot up.“What did they say?”

“That there’s been a development related to the police report, whatever that means.I’m calling them back.”

 

 

 

Another hour found him at the police station with a bit of an entourage.Bucky was there, of course, but so were Natasha and her boyfriend Clint.Steve liked Clint right away.There was nothing fake about him, and when he looked at Steve and said it was great to finally meet the man who had accompanied Natasha wherever, whenever last year, he said it without any hint of irony.Like he believed Steve was capable of keeping her safe.Steve wasn’t even sure he believed that himself, but that never stopped him when she called.

He could see how it worked.Clint seemed not to take much of anything seriously, except Natasha, which balanced out her very serious nature.Clint earned more smiles out of her in a half hour than Steve could in a week.Yes, it was safe to say that he liked Clint.

They waited for a while, but eventually Coulson, the officer who had taken his report, poked his head into the waiting room.

“Mr. Rogers?You and your friends can follow me.”

Coulson didn’t bat an eye when Clint got up, too.Steve wasn’t sure if they would allow him in since he wasn’t there for the original report.No one seemed bothered by it, and strangely Steve wasn’t, either, though Clint was a virtual stranger.Some people felt like friends from the second you met them.

Coulson’s desk was immaculate just as it had been last time.One might venture a guess that he actually polished the wood top, and he definitely Windexed what had to be a framed picture of his grandfather in his World War II uniform on the regular.Steve would bet his pencils were the kind you could sharpen, all the same length, and might stick if you threw them point-first at the dusty drop ceiling.

He sat down at the desk and folded his hands.Steve and his group scrambled to do the same; for whatever reason, the cop with the nerd-dad exterior was a little intimidating.He’d noticed the way people in the station straightened their backs and nodded when Coulson went by.He was somebody.

“I have to tell you this doesn’t happen often,” Coulson started.

Steve exchanged a glance with Bucky and then Natasha.“What doesn’t happen?”

“All three of the men you named as your attackers turned themselves in.”

“No way,” Bucky said, stunned.Not half as stunned as Steve, though; his mouth hung open.

Coulson nodded.“Yes.Mr. Rumlow, Mr. Rollins, and Mr. Sitwell came in together at eleven-oh-three this morning and said they were here to turn themselves in for assaulting one Steven Rogers.”

Natasha alone looked neither impressed nor excited.“Are they hoping for leniency?” she asked, arms folded over her chest.

“Maybe,” Coulson shrugged.“I don’t know that they’ll get it.They brought a video of the entire event.Apparently they set it up to record before abducting you, Mr. Rogers.” 

“So they’d have a little memento?” Bucky spat.“Sick fucks.”

“Can’t say I disagree.”

“It shows premeditation,” Natasha said.“They must know that.I don’t understand.”

“Don’t understand what?” Clint asked.

“If they’re hoping for lesser charges or penalties, that video won’t help.And I don’t believe the people who attacked Steve twice would feel enough guilt to incriminate themselves like that.”

Coulson’s eyes narrowed and his lips thinned into a hard line.“These men have hurt you before?” 

Steve’s brain was still a little stalled out, but he could feel everyone staring at him.Had he left that part out?Maybe, because the first time was handled at the collegiate level and he knew it was off the table.

“Um.Yeah, last year they beat me up pretty bad.Rumlow and Rollins, I mean.Jasper was new to the party.” _But probably not new to hurting people_ , Steve thought, remembering the bald man’s boredom with the situation and casual handling of the pocket knife.

“It was resolved in collegiate court because it happened on campus, and campus police were the first to respond,” Natasha supplied, at Coulson’s expectant look. 

He shook his head with long-suffering annoyance.“Slap on the wrist, I see.”

“If that,” Natasha agreed archly.

Coulson sighed.“Well, the fact remains that the three of them are here and have confessed to the events you described to us, Mr. Rogers.There’s video evidence to corroborate.All we need now is for you and Ms. Romanoff to positively identify them and to confirm that it’s you in the video.” 

Steve was quiet so long that Bucky nudged him in the ribs.

“Steve?”

“Yes,” he said.“Okay.”

 

 

 

His mind was racing as three lineups were paraded before him from behind the glass.It didn’t take any time at all to pick them out.Jasper looked impatient, Rumlow like he hadn’t slept in a week, and Jack - well, Jack looked like he was going to throw up.Of all of them, he was the one who’d choked Steve.He was the one they’d nail with the attempted murder charge.Steve almost felt sorry for him. _Almost_.

But his mind wasn’t really on that.He was dreading and desperate for the video at the same time.Something had stopped Jack’s fist that night and it was on video.If there was _anything_ , any hint of what it might have been, he was about to see it.

At the moment it happened, Jack lurched forward and then just _stopped._ He even looked at his hand and tried to tug away from whatever was holding him, but from the angle of the video, it looked the way it did when a baseball player checked his swing.It appeared that Jack thought better of the punch and pulled it.Steve knew otherwise.

He let his shoulders sag.Nothing.It seemed unlikely that the camera would have captured anything otherworldly, but a small part of him hoped.

“Steve?” Coulson prompted in a gentle tone.“I’m sorry you had to watch that.I need you to confirm it was you and tell me what happened after the video ended.”

Steve picked at his cuticles.“It was me.After that, I followed Natasha outside and had an asthma attack on the lawn.Bucky grabbed my inhaler and helped me with it.Then I left.”

Coulson raised an eyebrow.“Alone?”

“Yes.I was embarrassed.”

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about, man,” Clint said.“People only make it out of three on ones in the movies.You kicked their asses.”

“Natasha kicked their asses,” Steve mumbled.

“I think your friend is right.Mr. Rollins’ arm looks like he was mauled by a bear and I’d bet Mr. Rumlow is still trying to retrieve his balls from his rib cage.”

Steve had to smile at that, and he dared to look up.Coulson smiled back with the left side of his mouth.Clint’s brows were pulled down in a combination troubled and thoughtful expression, Natasha looked like she was doing some premeditation of her own, and Bucky’s eyes were full of furious tears.The second Steve met his glance Bucky shot to his feet and took Steve’s face in his hands.

“I’m glad you fought them.Don’t you _ever_ let anyone hurt you on my account, you hear me?”

Steve swallowed.“Loud and clear.Same to you.”

“Going down swinging,” he promised.

Heedless of the audience, Steve rose to his feet and kissed him.After a minute Coulson cleared his throat and Steve pulled back, licking his lips as he settled back into his chair and marveling at the weak, fluttery feeling that overtook him. _Just your bad heart throwing some PVCs, Rogers, don’t get excited._

“There’s just one more thing,” the police officer said.“They asked to talk to you.Mr. Rumlow, specifically.You absolutely do not have to do it if you don’t want to.You don’t have to see them again until court.”

“Oh, now they want to talk?” Natasha snapped.Her voice was cold, and whatever she said in Russian after that was colder still.

“Miss Romanoff,” Coulson said, as if he was unable to stop himself, “have you ever considered a career in law enforcement?”

“Yes,” she replied, succinct, but didn’t elaborate.Officer Coulson looked like he wanted to say more, but Steve recognized her evasion; he’d see her employ it many times. 

“I’ll talk to them.”

All eyes turned back to him.

“Are you _sure_?” Coulson pressed.“You’re not under any obligation.”

“I know.”

“If they beg you to reduce charges—” Natasha started.

Clint touched her arm.“Nat, it’s Steve’s call.”She sighed, but accepted it.

“Just don’t do anything stupid,” she huffed.

_For once, I won’t._

Steve had a feeling he knew what they wanted to talk about, anyway.

 

 

 

“You have to make it _stop_ ,” Brock said the second he crossed the threshold.

Yup.Steve schooled his face into an expression of bewilderment.

“Make what stop?”

Brock’s eyes darted from him to the officer at the door and back.“You know what I mean,” he hissed, half rage and half plea.He didn’t want to say it in front of the uniforms.An expression of frustrated helplessness overtook his face.“It doesn’t let me sleep.I haven’t — I can’t — _it doesn’t let me sleep_ , Rogers.Not since the morning after.”

Steve stepped further into the room.He noticed, with no small satisfaction, that Brock’s ankle was shackled to the table.

“You ever read Poe, Brock?” he asked.It was a rhetorical question; he knew Rumlow didn’t read shit.

“What?No.Rogers—”

“You should.He’s got a good one about guilt.Or insanity, depending how you look at it.”

“I _know_ you sent it,” Brock seethed, eyes wild.“I _know_.”

_Only thing I’m sending is my regrets that I can’t kick you in the nuts again._

“You should talk to a doctor if you can’t sleep.See you in court, Brock.”

 

 

 

The officer that accompanied him, a brunette named Hill, shook her head as she closed the door behind her.

“What in the blue hell was that about?” she asked.“Is that kid on something?”

“I have no idea,” Steve shrugged.It was truly difficult to keep from smiling.They stopped at a soda machine on the way to Rollins; he’d apparently asked for ginger ale and for whatever reason Officer Hill pitied him.While she got the bottle of soda Steve eased back into the hallway and whispered,

“Okay, George, enough.Let him sleep.”He allowed himself to grin at last.“ _Sometimes_.”

 

 

 

Jack didn’t ask him to make the haunting stop.Jack told him that he had no intention of killing him that night, and Steve would have thought he was just trying to cover his ass so he stood a chance of being charged with something less severe, except the whole time Jack looked like he was trying to convince _himself_ of it, too.

He was _scared_.

And, Steve thought, the only one of the three that was actually sorry for what he had done.

“I got…I got rage problems,” the big man with the facial scar said, concrete slab hands wrapped around the ginger ale.“I need help.” 

“You need to stay away from Brock, too,” Steve offered.It was pretty clear that Jack was the brawn of the operation, not the brains, and Brock knew that.

“Yeah,” he agreed, wan. 

Steve left him there peeling the label of his soda.He didn’t have to tell George to ease up on the haunting; he was certain George had taken one look at Jack and known he wasn’t needed.Jack was doing a fine job of haunting himself.

 

 

 

Jasper also looked a little wrung out, but not like Brock.His glance lit on Steve.There was a glimmer of cold, calculating interest there.Jesus Christ, this guy gave him the willies.Steve was pretty sure he was looking at a sociopath.

“How are you doing it?” he asked.

“Doing what?”

Jasper leaned back and appraised him.“Brock thinks it’s a ghost.But there’s no such thing, is there?”

Steve considered how to respond.He didn’t have to think on it for long, because a moment later he felt the telltale shift in the air.George materialized beside him and flashed a grin.

“No such thing as ghosts, huh?” he said.He circled the table in a slow, menacing stalk.As he went the air grew colder, and Jasper’s eyes flickered away from Steve.He felt it.He knew what it meant.

Looking at him, Steve was suddenly certain that Jasper was the one who set up the recording, and he already knew that he was the one who came up with the idea to leverage Bucky’s safety for Steve’s compliance that night.Steve was _no one_ to him; there was nothing personal, nothing he’d ever said or done to Jasper.The man could probably care less who Steve fucked.Yet he’d joined up with Brock and Jack anyway.

He knew why.There were people in the world who just liked to watch others suffer, to see another person made small and weak and subjugated.Jasper had smelled an opportunity for the kind of show he liked.Thank God Natasha turned up when she did.

A mixture of anger and delayed fear churned in Steve’s belly.The sight of the other man was revolting.He could feel George watching him, studying his carefully controlled expression.He wouldn’t give Jasper the satisfaction or the power of seeing what he really felt.

“If you’re feeling haunted,” Steve said at last, “maybe you should ask yourself why.”

“I’ve got nothing to worry about,” Jasper replied, smug and without compassion.“I was just in a room with two other people who decided to beat up some guy.”

_And I’ll bet your knife was for self-defense,_ Steve thought, his mind clouding over with rage at the idea that this hateful man might be able to manipulate his way out of the situation, or at least to a minimal sentence.Natasha told him not to do anything stupid but he found himself leaning over the table, in range of his unshackled hands, to whisper in the bald man’s ear.

“Now you’re just in a room with some guy whose demons you don’t want to meet.”

George made a concerned face at him, but grasped the back of Jasper’s neck nonetheless.Jasper stiffened at the contact, eyes widening and spine straightening, and breathed through his nose.It was the only emotion he’d shown the entire encounter.Of course it was; someone like him only cared about one person.

Steve pulled back, blood pounding in his ears.

“Be good, Jasper.”

 

 

 

“How many times do I have to tell people not to close the goddamn vent in here?” he heard Officer Hill growl as cold air poured out of Sitwell’s interrogation room.Steve leaned against the wall outside, trying to calm himself.George came right through said wall to stand shoulder to shoulder.

“You shouldn’t have gotten so close,” he chastised.

“He wasn’t going to do anything,” Steve murmured.

“I’ve been watching him, Steve.He’s a scary son of a bitch.”

Steve turned his head and met George’s gaze.“So are you, when you want to be.” 

He didn’t have to elaborate; George caught his meaning.“I’ll make sure he tells the truth.”

“Is that cheating?” Steve asked, with a trace of a smile.

“Is what cheating?” Officer Hill said, emerging from the room.

“Talking to them before their lawyers get here,” Steve said, surprised at how easily he changed gears.He didn’t even stumble over the words.

“It was all off the record,” she replied, “unless they threatened you?”

Steve shook his head.She considered him like he was some kind of rare specimen.

“Frankly, Mr. Rogers, you’re a saint for granting that request.”

“Just Steve, please.All this ‘Mr. Rogers’ is making me feel like I should be wearing a cardigan.”

Officer Hill smiled and led him back to his group.

 

 

 

It was an hour later, in a booth at Clint’s favorite dive bar, that Natasha told Bucky a lot of things he didn’t know, and something neither Clint nor Steve had known up to this point.Steve looked into his beer as she talked tonelessly about the derailment of her childhood after her parents died.He remembered the first time she revealed her story.It chilled him to the bone then, and still did the second time around.From the adoptive parents who used her as a drug mule and worse, to being forced to cooperate with the trafficking of other children, to witnessing various mob-related crimes, it sounded like hell.

She was rescued by an agent named Fury in an extensive Interpol operation.He went on to become her legal guardian until she was of age to venture out on her own.She spoke about Agent Fury with a fondness reserved for few.He was good to her, then and still, a true father figure.That was the part Steve knew.

The part he didn’t know was that when she hit 18, Natasha went to work undercover with Interpol.Fury tried to talk her out of it, but she was an adult and she had knowledge and experience no one could deny.He insisted they work together if he couldn’t convince her not to jump back into the cesspool.She and Fury took down several trafficking rings, both drug and human, until Fury feared she would be recognized and talked her out of continuing.As it was, she earned herself quite a reputation; they called her Black Widow, because once she got in, the operation was as good as dead.

“So when Officer Coulson asked you if you’d considered a career in law enforcement…” Bucky trailed off.

Natasha nodded.“It’s what I want to do.But Nick wanted me to ‘investigate my interests’ and ‘have the college experience’.”

“Sounds terrible,” Clint chuckled.

“No reason you can’t be an artist and a kick-ass secret agent,” Steve shrugged.

“And just think, by going to college you got to meet some super cool people,” Bucky said, gesturing around the table.It was clear from his tone of voice that he was using sarcasm at their expense, but Natasha broke into a smile.

“You’re right, I did.”

 

 

 

Finals ground them into exhaustion over the course of the next week.At the end of it, he lay in bed with Bucky and dozed when they should be packing.They agreed that Bucky would come to his place on Christmas Eve, and he’d stop by Bucky’s on Christmas.It was a big step for the fledgling relationship, but it felt right.If he was honest, _everything_ with Bucky felt right.

He woke to Bucky shaking him gently, saying his ride was here and he’d see him in a few days.Bucky kissed him and he didn’t know quite how he’d survive without this, without him being the first thing he saw in the morning.

_Lord, Rogers, you’ve got it bad._

 

 

 

 

Steve had mentioned Bucky to his mother on the phone plenty of times, but when he told her that he’d be visiting on Christmas Eve, she couldn’t stop smiling.That was fair; Steve hadn’t brought anyone home to meet her, well, _ever_.Nobody felt good enough up to that point.

He knew that Sarah would be delighted with Bucky so he felt no anxiety about that.What gnawed at him was the need to finally ask her what had happened with Winnie.Steve could admit that he’d avoided it a little.Deep down, he was afraid that if a grudge still existed between the two women, he and Bucky would be stuck between the proverbial Montagues and Capulets, and everyone knew how that story ended.

_Dramatic_ , Peggy’s voice echoed in his head.Okay, so maybe he was, sometimes.But any relationship was easier when everyone involved got along, family included.Steve could handle it if Winnie didn’t like him because of his mother, though he didn’t know if he’d ever quite shake the fear that Bucky would get tired of the drama and decide he wasn’t worth it.Love made you insecure sometimes.

Oh, and now he was using the L word.Fuck.

December 24th arrived at lightning speed.Steve cleaned so his mother could focus on the cooking, and then helped Tom wrap presents - he was _terrible_ at it.Steve had always liked wrapping because it was essentially an art project, and his hands were small and dextrous enough to get those perfect creases and corners.Strange things excited an artist.Tom was visibly impressed when they were done, though, and conversation with him felt easier than usual.

Thankfully Sarah decided not to invite Tom’s family to the Christmas Eve dinner.Steve suspected she was so excited he finally had a boyfriend that she didn’t want to risk scaring him away.Not that Tom’s family was bad; they weren’t, not at all, the majority of them polite and mild-mannered like Tom.Just, it was challenging enough to meet someone’s parents.No need to heap on the whole rest of the family at the same time.Steve doubted he’d be so lucky, from the way Bucky described his family.He could only hope they were all as easy to talk to as Bucky.

As it got closer to six, the nerves set in.He wondered if his mother would see George in Bucky right away.Their resemblance was undeniable.It felt a little bit like he was ambushing her, but how could he not, especially when there was no logical explanation for why he’d even know about her connection to Bucky’s parents?That reminded him, he had to remember what he planned to say when she asked.Oh, right - that he and Bucky had bonded over the loss of their fathers, and eventually realized that they’d been in the same unit in the military, had known each other and died together.Not a lie, but not all of the truth.

“Steve, baby, don’t be nervous,” Sarah said when the doorbell rang, squeezing his hand.“He’s made you so happy, I love him already.”

Great, now his cheeks and ears were on fire.“C’mon, Ma.”

She smiled.“You want to answer it, or should I?”

“I got it.”

Most of the nerves went away when he opened the door.It had been five days since he laid eyes on Bucky and hell, he never wanted to go that long again.He looked gorgeous, maybe a little overdressed but that just meant he wanted to look good for Steve and his family.No one could fault the effort.Bucky’s lips twitched.

“You look like you’re gonna hurl,” he said in Steve’s ear as he leaned in for a tame kiss on the cheek.

“Trying not to.Look that way, or hurl,” he clarified.He held onto Bucky a second longer than was strictly necessary.

“It’ll be fine.”The affection and _belief_ in his voice gave Steve the last bit of strength he needed.He turned and pulled Bucky forward out of the doorway.Here went nothing.

“Mom, Tom, this is Bucky.”

Sarah dropped her water glass on the floor.

 

 

 

Bucky and Tom carried the dinner conversation.Sarah had stammered out that Bucky looked like someone she knew once and then collected herself, as much as she could, anyway.She said nothing more on the topic, but kept looking at Bucky like she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.Steve felt tremendously guilty and wanted to ease her mind, but that wasn’t a conversation to be had with Tom around.He would disappear after dinner for a cigar, and that would be the time.

Sure enough, while Sarah started on the dishes, Tom headed out back.He’d be gone a while since it wasn’t too cold.Steve bellied up to the counter beside Sarah and started to dry things.Bucky hung back, fussing over the leftovers in the next room to give them space.Standing there, Steve felt tongue-tied; he didn’t know how to start things.For once, though, the universe had pity on him and his mother took the lead.

“Your boyfriend…he looks so much like an old friend of your father’s.”

Steve swallowed and set down the Pyrex he was drying.“Do you mean George?”

Her hands stilled in the soapy water.

“How do you know that name?” she said at last.

“Because I’m dating James Barnes, Mama.”

She turned to look at him, blue eyes bright with emotion.“George and Winnie’s son?”

Steve nodded.Watching her breathe, he felt compelled to elaborate.“We met randomly.Bonded pretty quick over losing our dads.The more we talked, the more we realized they knew each other.”

Sarah smiled, fragile but brave.“They were best friends, your father and George.”

“And you and Winnie?”

“We were best friends, too.”He could hear the well-disguised tremor in her voice, and the line between her brows that he’d seen so much growing up was in full effect.Obviously this was painful, but he had to know.He’d promised George.

“What happened?” Steve asked.

She sighed.“When they died, it…it just wasn’t the same.We lost touch.I’m sorry I never told you about them, I just never imagined…”

Steve picked up the Pyrex again, mind reeling.He dried that, and then the next thing, and then the next.He could feel his mother glancing at him now and then, uncertain about the abrupt end to the conversation, but no one was more uncertain than Steve.For the first time in his life, his mother had lied to him.

 

 

 

It was another two hours and a generous glass of wine before he worked up the courage to try again.He stood up from the couch and followed her to her room, planting himself on the bed while she used the bathroom.She emerged and blinked at him, instantly concerned.

“What’s the matter, Steve?”

“I know you were lying.You taught me never to lie.”

Her breath caught, but only for a moment.Carefully, Sarah came to sit next to him and put her hand over his.

“I’m sorry, darling.It’s just very painful to relive.”

He met her eyes.They were just like his when he looked in the mirror.

“Mama, tomorrow I’m meeting Bucky’s family and I don’t want to go in blind.They might not figure out who I am right away, but if they do, I want to be prepared.I want to know what to expect, and I can’t unless you tell me what happened.” 

There was a silence as his words sunk in.

“Do you love him?” she asked.Even as she spoke, realization was sinking into her features.She knew the answer and so did Steve.

“Yes,” he said anyway.

She looked at the ceiling, blinking against tears.Then she looked back at Steve with a watery smile.“Then you better call him in here.” 

 

 

“After…after your fathers died,” Sarah began, her fingers twining nervously, “there were funerals, and Winnie and I were together for those, and it seemed all right…of course nothing was all right, I was eight months pregnant and Winnie had a one-year-old at home, and we were both single mothers all of a sudden.”She took a gulp of the wine Bucky brought with him.“Winnie at least had Elena, George’s mother.I had no one.It really was Joey and me versus the world.”

Steve chewed his lip, wishing he could absorb some of her pain.His mother blew out a breath as if steeling herself for the next part.That wasn’t far off; he could see the tension creeping into her, drawing her tight.

“About a week after George’s funeral, Elena came to see me.It…it wasn’t a social call.”

Bucky shifted next to Steve, frowning.

“To summarize, she told me that the family, Winnie included, wanted nothing to do with me anymore.They blamed Joey for George’s death.Said he’d never have joined the Army if not for Joey, and guess who was in command when they died?It was his fault, and mine by proxy, even though the Army made it clear that it was an accident that no one could have predicted or prevented.”

Steve couldn’t stop the anger that flared in his gut.They could blame his father, maybe, but what had she ever done?

“That’s _bullshit_.”

“Yes.But grief is powerful and everyone reacts to it differently.That’s what I told myself.” 

“And my mother never tried to reach out to you?” Bucky asked.

“Well,” Sarah started, and then said nothing.They stared at her, expectant.A memory hit Steve then, of the day his mother broke the life-altering news to him that Santa Claus wasn’t real.She looked just the same right now.Sad, guilty, resigned.

“In that same encounter, Elena said that if I tried to contact Winnie, there would be consequences.She pointed right at my belly and told me that one day I’d know what it was like to lose a son.The way she said it, it sounded like a threat and it scared me, so I didn’t try to call Winnie.God only knows what Elena told her.Probably something awful.”

Bucky was aghast.“She really said that?”

Sarah nodded and took a steadying breath.Her hands were shaking, though.Steve’s uneasiness multiplied by ten.His only memory of _that_ was watching her from a hospital bed, too drugged and exhausted to interact with the world but too uncomfortable to sleep.

“I—I didn’t even know you were a boy then, Steve.We wanted to be surprised.But my next doctor’s visit I asked, and they said it’s a boy, and—” she choked up, covering her face.

“And what?” he prompted as gently as he could.His stomach was a pit of twisting nerves.

“And there was a problem with your heart that wasn’t there before.Eight months of ultrasounds without anything wrong, just a healthy baby, and then…”

He heard Bucky suck in a sharp breath.

Sarah shot to her feet and paced.She was fighting tears.She turned to Steve, hands balled into fists. 

“It’s so _stupid_ , Steve, I don’t even want to say it, but when you were born you were _so_ sick, and all I could think about was what she said. _One day you’ll know what it’s like to lose a son._ I almost lost you three times that first year alone.It was like she cursed us somehow.”

Steve had gone cold all over, trying to process a hundred things.There was a strong ache for the pain his mother had endured watching her child flirt with death, the cumulative depression and frustration of living his life sick all the time, the strange resentment that being born as he was could be considered a curse, and, holy shit, Bucky had said his grandmother - _George’s mother -_ was the witch of the family…

“It’s not stupid, Mama,” he breathed, realization crashing in. 

“Oh my God.”Bucky’s voice was nothing like Steve had ever heard it, small and shaky and _horrified_.He was staring straight ahead, so pale he was almost gray.“Oh,  _no_ _._ She cursed you.”He looked up with devastation written all over his face.“Steve, my grandmother cursed you.”


	6. Chapter 6

Sarah’s first instinct was denial.

“There’s no such _thing_ ,” she said in a firm, almost angry tone.“Magic spells, curses, that isn’t real, and I never should have said anything.”She reached for Steve’s hands and squeezed.“Nothing about you is cursed, Steve.You’re perfect as you are.I’ve always told you that.”

Slowly, he pulled his hands away.Then he stood up and went over to her dresser.She kept her jewelry in a narrow top drawer, most of it worn only on special occasions.The necklace chains and bracelet links had been tangled and knotted together for as long as Steve could remember, and it was a long time, because the jumble of so many metals and fake jewels fascinated him as a child.Steve felt numb as he lifted the tray from the drawer and set it on the bed between his mother and Bucky.

He should say something to her, but he didn’t know what, so he just performed the untangling spell he’d learned from the book.It was one of the most useful spells in there, which was why he had it memorized.Obediently the chains unwound.It looked like a mass of gilded snakes writhing together, one slithering out at a time, until six necklaces and four bracelets lay in parallel lines on the bed. 

Sarah put her hand over her open mouth, and silence thick as permafrost settled over the room.Bucky leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.He was breathing too fast.

“It’s real, Mama,” Steve said wearily when he couldn’t stand it anymore.

“How?” was all she could manage.

“I don’t know.”

“How long have you…”

“Not long.Just since Halloween.”

She made a noise of incredulity and leaned her head back.“People said your great-grandmother had magic, but I never believed them.”

Steve shrugged and smiled at her, hoping it didn’t look the way he felt.He _felt_ like his chest was caving in.Naturally, the universe chose that moment to send Tom peeking around the doorframe.

“Oh.There you are.It was was so quiet, I wondered where everyone went.”

“Just talking,” Sarah replied, but nobody was strong enough to put on a convincing show.

He took a step into the room, concerned.“Mood’s pretty low in here.Everything okay?”

Sarah came back to life like she always did in times of crisis; Steve watched it happen.The squaring of her shoulders, the indrawn breath, the tamping down of everything that threatened sanity because _breaking down doesn’t help anything, Steven._ She never did break down, not in front of him.He was sure she had her moments behind closed doors.

“Bucky’s family doesn’t like Steve,” she said.A gross oversimplification, of course.To Steve’s surprise, Tom frowned and said,

“Why the hell not?What’s not to like?”

He actually meant it, too.

“It’s a long story,” she sighed.“My fault.”

“No it’s _not_ ,” Steve protested.“It’s nobody’s fault except—”

Bucky rose to his feet suddenly, stopping Steve in his tracks.“How can I go back there?” he exclaimed.He was on the verge of panic, chest heaving.“How am I supposed to look at her?”

Steve stood up, too, and took hold of his arms.“You don’t go back.You stay here.”

“On Christmas Eve?My mom’ll get pissed, she’ll ask questions and—”

“You had too much wine and you’re sleeping it off.Simple as that,” Tom said with a shrug.He may not have understood why Bucky was so upset, but he was intuitive enough to recognize when someone needed unconditional support. 

“They’re right, Bucky,” Sarah said.“You’re in no shape to deal with this.None of us are.Stay the night.We’ll figure it out in the morning.” 

 

 

 

Bucky capitulated, but no one could stop his guilt.

“I’m so selfish,” he said as soon as they were alone.“You’re the one who got hurt, you and your mom, not me.I have no right to sit here and feel like the world’s ending.What the fuck is wrong with me?”

“Nothing, babe.”

“No, I need to get my shit together.You’re taking care of me right now and I should be…I should be…” he trailed off, lost.Steve knew that he wanted to say _taking care of you_ , but Bucky didn’t know how to do that in this scenario, and no doubt he still remembered how Steve reacted the last time he got a little overzealous in his caretaking.“How are you so calm?” he asked.

_Lots of practice_.

“A therapist once told me to imagine that my thoughts and emotions are coming down an assembly line in a factory.It’s my job to inspect them and decide what gets through.Some of them - the good, helpful, relevant ones - I let through.The bad or inaccurate ones I remove and throw away if I can.Some I box up for later because I don’t know what they are, or they’re hard to get rid of.”He chanced a look up at Bucky.“Let’s just say there are a lot of boxes right now.I’m not calm, Bucky, I’m just controlling it so that I can breathe.And think.”

_Situation’s bad enough without me losing my mind over it.Seems like it’s the one thing I’ve got._

Oh, and there was a discard.Not for the first time, he ran through his list of blessings.He had a loving family, an amazing boyfriend, a home, an education, he never went hungry, he had skills and talents and even if he was sickly and in pain a lot of the time, he could walk and do everything else that he needed and wanted to do, albeit with a little more effort and struggle.That was more than could be said for a good chunk of the world’s population.Even like this, he was lucky.

“I hate it,” Bucky whispered.“I hate it so much that you’ve had to live this way.”

“I don’t know any other way to live, Buck,” he replied.At least he’d been this way since the beginning.At least he’d never known what it was like to be healthy.Steve imagined it would be a lot worse that way.But, as it stood, he couldn’t lose something he never had in the first place.

Bucky sighed and sat down at the end of the twin bed.He looked so miserable that it physically hurt Steve to see him that way.Steve didn’t feel much different, but he had so much more experience dealing with the world’s terrible expectation that you just soldier on in the midst of adversity.He could fake it for Bucky.

“Hey,” he said, sitting next to him.“I have a Christmas present for you.”

Bucky wasn’t fooled, but he bit.“I thought we agreed that we wouldn’t do gifts.”

“What, you didn’t get one for me?” Steve asked, eyebrow raised.

“Uh,” came the reply.Bucky’s shifty look was enough to confirm his suspicions.He had a gift, too.

“Stay here.”

It was a quick trip to the hallway closet, where he’d hidden the gift.It was big by virtue of what it was; it had been very difficult to conceal it in their room at the Arts House.In fact, he left it in the attic most of the time.He’d long since taken Bucky’s good advice to use it as studio space.It wasn’t so bad with a few extra lights and a space heater up there.

Bucky jumped up to help him as he dragged it into the bedroom.Together they hefted it onto the bed.

“Steve, what the heck?”

“Open it.Just be careful.”

Bucky pulled the paper printed with cheerful penguins away like he was handling a Faberge egg, and then he stared.When he realized what he was looking at, he leaned forward, taking in the little details.A smile crept to his lips outside his control.That made everything okay, at least for now.

“You _made_ this?” 

Steve nodded.Bucky’s expression had gone from abject misery to wonder and he wished he could take a picture.He knew Bucky would love it but there was always a little doubt nibbling at the edge of his mind, because he’d never cared about anyone’s opinion so much before.

“ _When_?”

“It was my mixed media final project, actually.I told the professor it was intended as a gift and he let me turn it in early, so I’d have it back in time to give it to you.”

“He better have given you an A,” Bucky huffed.He picked up the small book that went with the art and flipped through it.It was as much an art piece as the canvas; Steve had asked one of his fellow Arts House oddballs to help him build and bind the book, and then he typeset it himself. 

“The more I worked on it, the more I fleshed out the story, so I figured I might as well write it down,” Steve grinned.“I hope you like bad sci-fi soap operas.”

“You turned the noble gases into a royal family, painted them all in a family tree, and wrote their background stories,” Bucky summarized.“For me.”There may as well have been little hearts in his eyes.

“Your periodic table was boring,” he shrugged.

“You put Oganesson on there.You read my chemistry books.”He touched the panel, eyes shining with mirth.Archduke Oganesson looked like a cross between Danny Devito as the Penguin and Jabba the Hut.“You know heavy means something different in chemistry than it does in normal life, right?”

“Sure,” Steve fibbed.He’d scraped by with a C in chem and looking through Bucky’s books had made him feel mighty unintelligent.A chemist he was not.

“Steve, this is amazing.”He was touching it now - the piece was meant to be touched, and even though it wasn’t Steve’s preferred style he had enjoyed constructing it.There were so many textures and little details to find.Leather, lace, sequins, satin, fake jewels, faux fur, gold leaf, pipe cleaners, even hair, which, thank God, Natasha had donated to the cause.Otherwise Steve would have had to ask Hair Sculpture Girl.

“Yeah, well, only the best for my fella.”

Bucky scrubbed a hand over his face to hide his blush.“My gift is so lame in comparison,” he lamented.

“I doubt that.”

“You’ll see.”He frowned, his shoulders rounding.“Or maybe you won’t.It’s at my house.I was going to give it to you tomorrow.”

“That’s tomorrow.”Steve hoisted the Noble Gases off the bed and leaned close to Bucky.“What do you say we drink some of that wine you’re supposed to have overdone it on?”

 

 

 

All he wanted was to take Bucky’s mind off things.That helped to guide his own mind to other places.So he poured heavy for Bucky, a tad lighter for himself, until they were in that buzzy sweet spot.Any more and emotions would take over.Any less and they wouldn’t be able to forget.As soon as he saw the laxity in his muscles and the pink in his cheeks, Steve took him to bed.

“Good thing we’re used to a twin,” he said, nuzzling in close.

Bucky surprised him then, pressing forward to kiss him, hand sneaking under his t-shirt.Steve didn’t presume that either of them would be able to forget enough for this, but as always his body woke up under Bucky’s hands and lips.And he was in rare form; he was all over Steve, aggressive, rolling on top of him and kissing him like he was dying of thirst and Steve was water.His muscles might be turning to it, at this rate.

It was impossible to think about pain or sadness when he was wrapped up in Bucky.It felt so good to have his weight pressing him down into the mattress.The heat and drag of his body made everything sensitive, and his stubble, fuck.He loved the feel of it on his thighs when Bucky gave him head but he’d take it anywhere, everywhere.He was so lost in it that he didn’t comprehend that Bucky had an agenda until he was, quite literally, pressing it.

“ _Oh._ ” 

Breath punched out of him in that syllable as Bucky’s finger breached him.He couldn’t help but clench.Bucky shushed him and sucked on his neck, easing in as Steve relaxed.Steve was drowning in sensation, trying to cling on, vision going fuzzy at the edges as Bucky flirted with his prostate.That would have been enough all on its own, but he added a second finger, and the momentary stretch and burn ignited a craving in him that he’d forgotten. 

“Bucky,” he gasped, “please.”

“You want me to?” he whispered with a press of his fingers that _finally_ hit Steve’s prostate head-on.Steve had to bite down a moan.

“Yes. _Yes_.”

They should lock the door.Hell, they shouldn’t do this at all, not here or now, but it was too damn late to go back.He couldn’t have stopped himself if he wanted to.He might not have his health, but he could have intimacy and pleasure and transcendence with the person he loved, however brief.He could have that.He _would_ have that.

So he pulled Bucky down to the floor because it was quieter than the old bed, climbed astride him when they were ready, and chased it.It felt divine, but the best part for Steve was watching Bucky’s face as he tried to keep up with the new sensations.Needless to say it was a losing battle.He clamped onto the top of Steve’s thighs where they met his pelvis and held on, rocking his hips, making stars explode behind Steve’s eyes like he’d pressed his palms against the lids too long.Orgasm was so close, coiled like a spring at the base of his spine.All he needed was…

_That._ Bucky’s hand.Oh, God.It didn’t take much longer for him to shiver apart with his face pressed into Bucky’s neck.Blood throbbed in his ears, his eyes stung, and his muscles wrung themselves into exhaustion there in his lap.Bucky came a precious minute later, eyes closed and mouth open in a silent exhortation.For long minutes they just breathed each other’s air, foreheads pressed together, loathe to separate. 

“Holy fuck,” Bucky whispered after a while, voice dry and hoarse.“That was supposed to be a present for you but I think it was a present for me, too.”

Steve laughed and kissed him until they heard footsteps in the hallway.Tom’s voice sounded a moment later.He was just outside the door, but thankfully he didn’t try to come in.

“Steve?You awake?I found that extra charger for Bucky’s phone.”

 

 

 

Bucky slept deeply, the rest of the wine soused and fucked out.Steve did the same for a few hours, but woke around four in the morning and knew that was all he’d get.Everything he held at bay earlier was clawing its way out of the compartments of his mind.

He kept coming back to two things.One, the terrible, insidious thought that _you might have been normal if not for that woman._ It had never been a possibility before.Sure, there were variations of that thought, the classic why me hamster wheel of madness, but never quite like this.Never with this feeling of something being _taken_ from him.

As for the second thing, he kept flashing back to his conversation with Lula at the consignment shop.

_Spells used to harm others always have consequences._

_Any curse you cast is a curse on you, too._

He thought about the scars on Bucky’s arm.What if that accident that had nearly killed him and his mother was one of those consequences?A child suffering through the pain of severe burns…his mother never remarrying…Bucky and his family being unable to see or hear George…George being summoned away from the peace of death for _this_ …

Steve’s chest felt tight.So many consequences, and these were just the ones he knew about.He hadn’t even gotten to the worst one.Far and away, the most terrible thing was that Bucky had fallen for a man living on borrowed time.

He could be honest with himself now, when he wasn’t trying to console Bucky.Steve had been on borrowed time from the moment he was born.How many times had he nearly died?A dozen, at least.Only his mother knew the true count because she was there for it all, terrified that this time might be _the_ time she actually lost him.

Steve was always a fighter.He fought for his mother, mostly, so he’d never have to leave her the way his father did.But that wasn’t all of it.He wasn’t exactly sure what else made him so resistant; maybe the sheer spite of continuing to exist and flourish when the universe deemed him flawed and disposable.

But Bucky’s beloved science and mathematics said that inevitably, one day, Steve would be on the losing end of that equation.Death was a scary prospect, but when all was said and done he got to die and not be in pain or worry about anything anymore.His mother and Bucky would be the ones left behind with their hearts in shreds.

And it was all because of _her_.

What if…

Fuck, what if all this was just the curse pushing them together to exact the most pain out of both of them?To make Steve desperate to stay healthy and alive and Bucky petrified to lose him?It would be unbearable, losing everything together.

Did she _know?_ Did Elena Barnes have any idea what she’d done to her own family?Did she _care?_

He had no answers.Just a head full of land mines on Christmas morning.

 

 

 

He got up with the dawn and helped his mother make breakfast.Thankfully, she seemed as disinclined to talk as he felt.It was nice to be with another person, though.Nice to be around her familiar energy. 

When the cinnamon rolls were in the oven, she stepped up behind him and wrapped him in a hug.Steve leaned back into it and held on.Sarah kissed him on the temple and he felt the the ache push at his ribs.It was so unfair, what had been done to her.

He didn’t realize they had been standing there, rocking slightly, for untold minutes, until his mother’s phone went off.

“That’s the reminder for church,” she sighed, letting go of him reluctantly.“Mind taking out the cinnamon buns when the timer goes off?”

“Sure,” he said.“I’ll even frost ‘em when they cool.”

Sarah cupped his cheek for a second and then hurried off to change her shoes and grab her jacket.As she was bundling herself, Steve poked his head out the kitchen doorway to ask a question, but it died on his lips.He was standing in a cold spot.

Steve blinked.Had George…?Yes, maybe he stopped by to say Merry Christmas, and seeing them in their embrace, left quietly.That had to be it.

“Bye, baby.”

“Bye, Ma.Love you.”

 

 

 

Bucky emerged as the cinnamon buns were cooling, no doubt drawn by the enticing scent.Steve had no shame about extracting one from the pan and sharing it; they were best when they were warm.On a normal Christmas his mother would have scolded him.This wasn’t a normal Christmas. 

Bucky brewed a pot of coffee and they sat huddled together on the couch and drank in silence.Steve had a slight headache when he woke up so it stood to reason Bucky did, too.Wine-mediated, perhaps, but the greater part of that headache was trying to figure out what Bucky was supposed to do now.What _any_ of them were supposed to do.

“I have to go see Lula,” Steve said at last.

“Who’s Lula?”

“The woman I bought the spell book from.I’m pretty sure she’s a much more experienced witch than me.”

Bucky nodded.“I’ll go with you.”

Steve nodded back and smiled as much as he could manage.Bucky sighed and leaned against his shoulder.Steve knew his shoulders were bony, yet Bucky never seemed to mind.

“How do I tell my mother?” he asked after a while.He pressed his face briefly into what little meat Steve had on his deltoid and sniffled.“God, how do I tell my _father_?”

Ugh.The thought made Steve’s stomach drop.George would be _devastated_. 

“Will your mother believe it?” Steve asked cautiously.He didn’t want to offend Bucky, but it was a valid question.

“I think so.I just don’t know what to say.”

“I can do it.”

Bucky shook his head.“No.You shouldn’t have to.”

The rest of the conversation was derailed when Tom asked them to help him move Sarah’s Christmas present to the living room before she got home from church.He’d hidden the Peloton he bought her in the shed.And maybe it was just that being in love with Bucky was making him see the world through different eyes, but Steve was starting to think he hadn’t given Tom enough credit.

 

 

 

Breakfast was outwardly fine, except Bucky didn’t say much and kept glancing at his phone like he expected it to bite him.Sure enough, when ten o’clock rolled around, the phone began to vibrate against the table.Sarah drew a breath; Winnie’s picture was on the screen.

Bucky looked at him as if to gather strength - like he had any of that to give - and answered.

“Hi, Mom.”

The volume was up loud enough that they could all hear her reply.“Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”Thank God it wasn’t a FaceTime call; he was not fine.

“How long do you expect Steve’s parents to put up with you while they’re trying to have their holiday?And how long do you expect _us_ to wait, James?”

He winced.Winnie wasn’t done.

“What were you thinking, drinking too much the first time you’re meeting them?I didn’t raise you like that.”

“No,” he breathed, “you didn’t.”

She sighed on the other end.“When should we expect you?”

For a minute he couldn’t speak.But then his eyes fixed on Steve and his back straightened.

“I’m not coming home.”

There was a beat of silence.Then, “What?”

“I’m not coming home until you ask Mami what she did to Sarah Rogers and her son.”

Winnie actually gasped, like the name was an electric shock.Steve dared to glance at his mother.She was pale, fingers unconsciously fraying the edge of her napkin.Next to her, Tom was frowning, listening with as much interest as the rest of them.

“James,” she said, “how do you even know that name?”

“I’m sitting with her right now,” he replied.“And her son.His name is Steve.”

“Oh my God,” Winnie muttered.“You’re dating the Rogers boy?”

Bucky’s lips pressed into a thin, furious line.“I am dating an incredible _man_ , mother, and you’re missing the point.You ask Mami what she did to them.You ask her now.”

“Your grandmother didn’t—”

“ _Ask her_.”

Winnie wasn’t buying it.Steve felt frustration rising in his chest.This wasn’t only wrecking his life; now it was fucking with Bucky’s, but then again, hadn’t it always?Scar tissue stretched tight and shiny at his wrist where his sleeve rode up and fresh rage welled in Steve.No petty vengeance was worth endangering your own family.Elena had seen what it did to them, to the people she loved, and still she held her silence and her grudge.

“James, where are you?What’s the address?I’m coming over there.” 

Bucky froze, a trapped look on his face.

“James?James, answer me.”

He dropped the phone from his ear and Steve saw his thumb start to move for the end call icon, but Sarah reached out and snatched the phone from his grasp.

“Winnie, it’s Sarah,” she said, crisp, business-like.“The address is 1201 Armistice Avenue in Garden City.Don’t bring your mother-in-law.”

She hung up before Winnie could reply, slid the phone back to Bucky, and then started clearing the table.All three men blinked at her retreating back as she made for the kitchen.Bucky was the one to break the silence, shocked but fighting a smile.

“Now I see where you get it from.”

Steve had to smile, too, because he was right.

 

 

Winnie made it there in less than an hour, a feat only made possible by fortuitous alignment of the stars and lighter-than-usual Christmas traffic.Sarah had long since gone into battle mode.When the car pulled into the driveway she stood by the door, unflinching, arms crossed.Steve had seen it before when a doctor was ready to give up on him, when an insurance company dared to try to say his treatment wasn’t covered, when someone picked on him for any number of flimsy reasons.Sarah Rogers took no shit when it came to her son.It was worth noting that she took no shit _from_ her son, either.He’d been on the receiving end of that stony glare often enough.

Like Sarah, Winnie was no shrinking violet.She marched right up to the front door and knocked, three sharp raps.Bucky looked nervous enough to cry.Steve didn’t know what to expect out of the situation, so he reserved his emotions for whatever the outcome would be; it had saved him a lot of energy and time in the past.

Sarah opened the door.The sight of her brought Winnie up short.For long minutes, they just stared at one another.It gave Steve a chance to study Bucky’s mother.She was beautiful, olive-skinned and dark-haired with the same stormy blue eyes as Bucky.Within arm’s reach, the two women were a study in contrasts.

Finally, Winnie collected herself.

“I want to see my son,” she said.

Sarah stepped aside, inviting Winnie in.“He’s right here.”Steve recognized the forced calm in her voice, but no one else would.“I’m not holding him hostage.”

Bucky’s hand groped for his and Steve held on.He stood as straight as he could next to Bucky.Winnie stepped into the house but didn’t go far; she stopped again, staring.Steve felt her eyes on him, scouring every inch of his being.He wished he knew what she was looking for. 

At last she put a hand to her cheek, something like awe on her face.

“Our boys.What are the odds?”

“I know,” Sarah replied softly.

“They should have grown up together.”

“I know,” Sarah repeated.“Believe me, I do.”

“Then why didn’t they?Why did you disappear?” Winnie demanded.There was hurt and frustration and genuine bewilderment in her voice.

“That’s exactly what your son was trying to explain to you on the phone.Winnie, you better sit down.”

She looked at Bucky before she moved.He let go of Steve’s hand and then held one out to her.Swallowing, Winnie went to him.He led her to the couch and they sat, their hands clasped.Steve wanted to do the same for his mother but it wasn’t new to her; she had been living with this for twenty years, alone. 

Before she took her place on the couch Sarah stepped close to him and said, “Steve, take Tom in the other room and show him what you showed me last night, okay, darling?”

 

 

 

He wasn’t sure how Tom would react.His mother had accepted it so easily, but that was more a product of their bond than anything else.He didn’t have that same trust and closeness with Tom.However, if his mother thought he ought to know, he wouldn’t question her choice.Sarah was an excellent judge of character.

Once again, Steve thought the best way to explain was to show.He performed a few spells for Tom - sock matching and folding from the laundry basket, Windsor knot on the tie hanging on a drawer pull - and watched his eyes go wide.Then, slowly, a smile spread over his face.

He held up both of his index fingers.

“Wait - wait right here, Steve.”

“Okay,” he said, a little wrong-footed.Tom got up and went into the ensuite bathroom.Steve heard some vague movements, something falling on the floor and a soft curse, and then Tom walked back out and took up his spot on the end of the bed.For a second Steve didn’t notice, but then it hit him.

“Your eyes,” he said. “What…”

“I was born like this.You know my friend Mike, the optometrist?He orders contacts special for me that hide it.”

Steve couldn’t help himself; he leaned in, stared into Tom’s eyes.He seemed to expect that.Why wouldn’t he?He had what could only be described as reptilian eyes, vivid green with slitted pupils.It should have been strange, but somehow it wasn’t unattractive on him.Steve had a thousand questions.

“Is your vision different?”

Tom nodded.“I can see spectrums that regular people can’t.Infrared and UV.And I have a built-in filter so I never need sunglasses.”

“Do you have the—” Steve gestured, because he didn’t know the science word, damn it, Bucky would have, “extra eyelid?” 

“Sure do.It grosses your mother out.”

“She knows?”

Tom gave him a look.“Of course she knows.I told her before I proposed.”He shrugged.“Let’s just say it had been a deal breaker in the past and I wanted everything out in the open.I love Sarah and I wanted her to love me, not who she thought I was.Thankfully she does.”

“Why do you hide it, then?” Steve asked.

“Are you casting spells in front of people on the street?”

“Well, no.”

Tom leaned back on his palms. “Steve, before you were born, back in the 70s and 80s, people like me - like _us -_ were called mutants.Opinions weren’t favorable.The safest thing was to blend in.I went to a special school until I was old enough to wear contact lenses and could be trusted to conceal my differences.I’m not exactly the kind of person anyone would put on a superhero team, mutant or not, so if someone wanted to hurt me, they could have.Easily.That kind of thing happened back then.” 

“Still happens now,” Steve murmured.God, he hadn’t said a word to his mother about the thing with Brock, Jack, and Jasper.It had completely slipped his mind.

“I’m sure it does.”Tom sighed.“It…I guess I got caught up in the concealment.I felt so lucky to have Sarah that I tried to stay as boring and inoffensive as possible to everyone else.You included.”He looked up and he smiled.“You have any idea how terrifying it is to become a stepfather to a teenager?”

“No.Do _you_ have any idea how terrifying it is to have a stepfather when it’s just been you and your Mom for thirteen years?” Steve returned.

“No.But I knew I never wanted to try to replace your Dad, even if you never had the chance to know him.”He blew out a breath.“I never wanted to give you a reason to scream at me that I wasn’t your real father.”

He hadn’t.As before, when tempers flared (and they did), it was Sarah who handled him.Steve couldn’t think of a single time that Tom had raised his voice to him, except maybe once during a driving lesson when he’d been dumb enough to try to read a text and nearly got them T-boned.He deserved it that time; lesson learned.

“I got lucky again,” Tom mused.“You weren’t bad, as teenagers go.”

“I was too sick most of the time to be bad,” Steve pointed out. 

“It’s not just that.You’re a good person, Steve.You didn’t want to make things difficult for your mother, I know that.” 

_And yet, that’s all I do._

Well, that was one to pull off the conveyor belt and throw away, for sure.It wasn’t easy, though.

Tom sighed.“I’m really sorry I didn’t try a little harder, Steve.”He breathed a laugh.“Christ, I was scared.If things went sour with you, it wasn’t a secret that your mother would pick you over me.I knew from the minute I met her that you are her everything.”

Fuck, it was like a knife twisting in his chest.Tom was just trying to be honest and nice, succeeding on both fronts, and he had no way of knowing what they were talking about in the living room.No way of knowing what a _burden_ Steve was to the woman they both loved.

“I should have tried harder, too,” Steve said, fighting the emotion that wanted to close his throat.He had to steer the conversation to safer territory.“I’m jealous, you know.I’m red-green colorblind, and here you are seeing shit beyond the human spectrum.”He frowned as something occurred to him“Don’t the contacts limit your vision?”

“A little,” he admitted.“But I manage.I don’t wear them when it’s just your mother and me.And now you.”

“And now me,” he agreed.“I had no idea I could do these things until a few months ago.Wish I’d found out sooner.”

“Bucky knows?”

“Yeah.”

Tom tensed.“Is that why his family doesn’t like you?”

He could spare Sarah from having to repeat it a third time.He closed his eyes and forced it out.“Not quite.They…our parents knew each other.They were close.Our dads died together.Bucky’s grandmother blamed my dad for her son’s death because he followed him into the military.My mom was the only one around for revenge.”His jaw clenched and he stared at his feet because he absolutely could not look anyone in the eye right now.“Mom and me.” 

“She did something to the two of you?”

Steve nodded.He felt Tom’s hand on his shoulder a moment later and found the strength to lift his head.

“What did she do?” Tom asked, very serious.

_She cursed my mom while I was still in utero, made me sickly so she’d know what it was like to lose a son._ That was what he should have said, what his brain wanted to say, but his heart was in the driver’s seat.

“She made me like this,” he blurted.He felt like his soul was in spasm.There was no controlling the emotion anymore.“Mom always has to—to watch me suffer, not knowing if I’m going to pull through, and that’s what she wanted, she wanted her to lose me over and over and over again.”Steve put his hand over his mouth and bit down.Sometimes it was the only way to stop the tears.

_Her ultrasounds were normal!_ he wanted to scream. _I was normal!_ He bit down harder because it wasn’t working.It wouldn’t be the first time he tasted blood.

Tom pulled him into a hug, gently prying his hand away before he could break the skin.Steve could have fought it, might have at another time, but he was tired.So tired.He leaned into the embrace and tried to feel like someone worth the comfort.

 

 

 

Madness, at least, was fleeting.It passed in the space of a few minutes that rung loud with his shuddering breaths.His body ached bone-deep with exhaustion.He hated when his emotions won.Inevitably he came out of it feeling like someone scraped off the shores of Dunkirk, with nothing but a moment’s respite before he plunged into the next battle. 

“She’s like you, then?” Tom asked, sensing his return.“Bucky’s grandmother?”

Steve nodded into the other man’s shoulder.It occurred to him for the first time, right then, that maybe Tom had _wanted_ a son when he married Sarah.Steve had never given him the time of day.Instinctively he knew that if Tom had made the overtures, Steve would have kept his distance, anyway, because he was _selfish._ And now, with the door opened, all he was doing was heaping problems onto his stepfather the same way he did onto his mother and Bucky.

More than anything, he hated the feeling of burdening others.He pulled back and shot to his feet, right back into the fray again, stewing with rage and guilt.At his lowest points he’d been haunted by the thought that his mother would be better off without him.That thought was back in full force now, even though he knew it wasn’t true.Steve forced himself to sit back down and breathe.Speaking of which…

“Inhaler?” Tom said.

Steve nodded miserably.“Bedroom.In my….toiletry bag.”With his luck it was probably right next to the condoms but he didn’t have the energy to care. 

 

 

 

His breathing had evened out by the time a knock sounded against the door.It was Sarah.Her eyes were red-rimmed but her posture was still strong.If she could keep going, he could, too.He owed it to her.Steve dragged himself up and prepared to face Winnie and Bucky.

Before they went back out to the living room, he saw his mother whisper something into Tom’s ear.She was probably telling him to put his contacts back in.Steve tried to be annoyed but couldn’t summon it; she just wanted what was best for them.That was how it had always been.He walked out on his own.

Bucky looked bad.Winnie looked worse.He knew from the pain on her face that she believed them.She wouldn’t be winning any poker games, this one, but that made sense if she never had to make herself look better than she felt.Since it was a day full of realizations, Steve was struck with the fact that while he rarely, if ever, lied in words, he lied with his face every single day.

Winnie stepped toward him and then stopped, uncertain.

“Hi, Winnie,” he said, making it easy for her because none of this was her fault.“It’s good to finally meet you.”

And her face _crumbled_ like an old brittle page under rough hands.She surged forward, embracing him, and it didn’t feel strange or forced.She held him the same way he imagined she held Bucky in a moment of fierce affection: one hand low on the back of his head, the other around his shoulders, pressing him into the shelter of her body.

“I’m so sorry,” she was whispering.“I’m so sorry, Steve.”

He remembered a sign one of his therapists had on her wall, an H.G. Wells quote. _Affliction comes to us not to make us sad, but sober; not to make us sorry, but wise._ He hated that sign; its sentiment was reductive, oversimplified.Near as he could tell, no one was gaining any wisdom from this, and if he was, he’d trade it away for his health in the space of a weak, skipping heartbeat.

Bucky slid in behind him, wrapping him in a backwards hug to mirror his mother’s.Steve sighed and relaxed into the tangle of limbs.What else was there to do but take comfort where he could?

_Merry fucking Christmas, Rogers._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mami = Romani word for Grandmother 
> 
> Interestingly, Mamioro, or 'little grandmother' = a spirit that brings serious illness. Coincidence? I think not.
> 
> Also, if I'd planned this better I might have made Tom someone recognizable in the Marvel universe, but I didn't, so he is just a mutant trying to live his life under the radar.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. This story definitely grew beyond anything I imagined, and this year held new experiences in the form of Bangs and fandom immersion! That, and I'm terrible and have too many WIPs. The goal is that this story will soon be removed from the WIP category!
> 
> Since I left off at Christmas...here's an update for Christmas.

Winnie and Sarah talked together for a long time.  Steve and Bucky retreated to the bedroom, too tired and emotionally spent to do anything except curl together in a pile of blankets.  Tom operated quietly in the background, making sure they were all fed and watered and warm. Steve had to admit his mother had picked a good one.

He wasn’t sure what time it was when Sarah knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

She nudged the door open and held onto the frame. 

“Winnie is going to go back to the house and get some things.  She’s decided the two of you won’t be staying there. I tried to talk her into staying here, with us, but she keeps saying…”

“That we’ve taken enough from your family?” Bucky said heavily.

“Not those words, exactly, but yes,” Sarah replied, sighing.

None of it sat right with Steve.  He gripped Bucky’s hand. “You didn’t do anything.  You or your mom.”

“That’s what I kept trying to tell Winnie,” Sarah offered.

“She’s tough to sway once she makes up her mind.”  Bucky took a breath and excavated himself from the blankets.  “I’m going with her.”

“I don’t know if that’s—”

“ _ I’m going with her _ ,” Bucky repeated.  Evidently Winnie wasn’t the only one who was tough to sway.

Steve waited until his mother left to say, “What about George?”

Bucky looked up from tying his boots.  His face said he’d forgotten all about that particular wrinkle.  And that he couldn’t take much more in one day.

“Can we…one thing at a time?”

“Of course.”  Steve managed a smile for him.  “I’ll just make something up if he visits.”

“You don’t have to lie.  Just…”

“I know.” 

Bucky got up and kissed him, and it was hard to stop once they were touching.  Bucky was acting like if he let go, if he left, Steve might be gone by the time he got back.  Steve  _ hated  _ that.  It had never been there before.  There was some new awareness of fragility in Bucky’s eyes and words and touch.  There was fear.

Steve had to step away and take several deep breaths.  Oh, so now he was moving on to the anger part of his grief stages.  Fantastic.

“What?” Bucky asked, instinct telling him something was wrong.

He wanted to say  _ you’re treating me differently _ , but that wasn’t fair.  Bucky had every reason to be upset and he was still processing.  Steve wasn’t just a guy with a shitty gene pool and immune system anymore.  He was that way for a reason. A reason Bucky probably understood a lot better than Steve, if he’d been raised around Roma magic.

“Nothing,” Steve said.  “It’s just…Bucky, I’m going to be fine.”

“I know,” he replied with conviction.  “Because we’re going to find a way to lift the curse.”

There.  That was better.  Steve squeezed his hands.  “Good luck.”

The look on his face said they would need it.

  
  
  


All told, they were gone for about three or four hours.  Winnie agreed at least to stay for the night; Sarah wouldn’t hear of them staying in a hotel on Christmas.  Steve, Sarah, and Tom were eating a pie straight out of the tin with forks when they got back. Winnie and Bucky dropped their bags by the door and Sarah offered two more forks and a second pie.

Nobody said much of anything.  That continued all through It’s A Wonderful Life.  Steve had seen the movie so many times he didn’t really have to watch it; he watched Bucky instead.  studied the shape of his socked feet and ankles where they rested in his lap, and the way he and Winnie looked together.  It felt like a missing puzzle piece. Once, Steve took a break from staring and caught his mother doing the same thing. 

If nothing else, this brought them back together.  Though they might never have been apart if not for Elena’s need for vengeance.  Sarah had plenty of friends now, but when he was little and there was no time for anything but work and caring for her sickly son, his mother was alone.  Widowed, isolated, too tired and cash-strapped for any kind of self care, all the while thinking she would outlive her son. It was  _ awful _ .

Steve had to get up and walk away.  He needed to cry or punch something or both.  His feet were already crunching down the driveway by the time he heard the door open behind him and Bucky jogging to catch up.  Bucky didn’t say anything. He just walked alongside Steve, their breath twin plumes in the cold.

Finally, in the next development over, Steve stopped under a streetlight.

“I’m sorry.  I’m just…”

_ Enraged.  Embittered.  Helpless.  _

Bucky sighed.  “She didn’t…” His hands curled into fists.  “She looked us in the face and said, oh, that boy is still alive?”

_ You’re goddamn right I am. _

“So it went well.”

“She didn’t seem to understand why we were upset.  Kept saying  _ those are the people that took him away _ .”

Steve’s hackles rose.  “My dad didn’t—it was an accident!  And my mom sure as hell didn’t do  _ anything  _ to deserve—”

“I know, Steve, I know.”  Bucky pulled him into a hug.  Steve’s posture was tight, closed, but Bucky embraced him anyway.  “Neither did you.” 

Steve consciously forced himself to breathe.  Bucky wasn’t the enemy. Bucky was just telling him what happened.  He tried to unlock his muscles and relax into the embrace.

“I think…” Bucky trailed off and squeezed him tighter.  “It was cold in the house. I think my father was there.  He knows.”

“Knows what?”

Steve froze.  That was George’s voice.  Neither of them felt it because it was cold outside, but it was prickling all up and down Steve’s neck now.  Bucky stilled a moment later, catching on.

“Dad?” he whispered.

“Yeah, kid,” George said, and smoothed a hand over Bucky’s hair.  Bucky couldn’t feel it, of course, beyond a little tickle, but it was something.  “What is it I’m supposed to know, Steve?” 

Steve looked up into Bucky’s eyes.  “I don’t think he does, Buck.”

“There was someone there, I swear.  It felt the same as it does when he visits.”

George was looking back and forth between them, frowning.  “Steve, please start talking. To  _ me _ .”

Reluctantly, he separated from Bucky.  “Not here.”

  
  


There was a playground a quarter mile down the road.  He set Bucky and George up at the picnic table and wandered away to the swings.  He couldn’t be the one to tell him. He felt bad leaving Bucky there staring at a man he couldn’t see, talking into the void, but he just… couldn’t.  

Steve got on a swing and started pumping his legs.  He’d always liked the swings. The rush of air, the weight of momentum on his body - he didn’t get much of that, fragile as he was as a child.  He remembered how all the kids liked to jump off when the swing was at its apex. Steve broke his ankle the one time he tried.

The urge to try again was an insane pressure in his head, pushing outward at his sternum like a pair of hands, but he wouldn’t do it.  He’d probably find a way to break his neck. It was simply tempting fate. He couldn’t afford to do that anymore.

He didn’t know how long they were out there.  Soon enough, though, when his arms and legs started to tire, he felt Bucky’s hands at his back, pushing him.  Keeping that perfect soaring rhythm. God, he loved him.

On the next downward arc, Steve let his feet drag in the wood chips.

 

George was devastated.  Steve could only imagine how trapped and frustrated he felt, wanting to talk sense into his mother but with her unable to see or hear him.  There were ways - he could write, although touch screens didn’t work for him - but something told Steve that even if he could communicate with her easily, Elena would not have heard him.

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try.

Steve and Bucky walked home hand in hand.  Nobody asked any questions when they got back.  Sarah, Tom, and Winnie turned in not long after that, and Steve and Bucky likewise retreated to Steve’s room.

Steve had changed into his pajamas and was already under the covers when Bucky dug in his bag and came up with a small box.  It was wrapped in thick, beautiful paper with a sprig of holly wound through the thin ribbon. It was almost too pretty to open.

Bucky sat on the edge of the bed.  “Merry Christmas.”

Steve tore it open by the seam, careful not to ravage the paper completely.  He opened the box and immediately felt a lump rise in his throat. It was his watch.  The one Bucky liked to wear, the one that had broken when George first found out about them.  It was repaired and working, showing 11:08, second hand ticking smoothly along.

“Got it resized, too,” Bucky said, lifting it out of the box carefully.  Steve held out his arm and Bucky fastened the watch in place. It fit perfectly.  And really, truly, Steve had never been in love before, because nothing ever felt like this.  Like he could just live forever, sustained by nothing else.

It was automatic to kiss until there was no breath and then curl up naked together, limbs entangled.  Even from under the pillow, Steve could hear it; the soft  _ tick. tick. tick. _ of the watch.  And it should have reminded him of the demands of time and of probability -  _ your days are numbered, pal -  _ but all Steve could hear was the steadiness of it, like a heart that refused to stop beating. 

  
  
  


It was cold when they woke up.  Steve rubbed sleep from his eyes and looked for George.  He was there by the door, leaned against the wall with his arms crossed.  He opened his mouth to speak, but a second later someone knocked on the door.  Like a spooked animal - like a spooked  _ spook _ \- he disappeared.

Bucky barely got the blanket pulled up to their necks in time.  A split second later his mother threw the door open.

“Okay, so the whole point of knocking is to ask permission to enter,” Bucky grumbled.  “That’s what you always used to say.”

The stern set of Winnie’s face slipped; she fought a smile.  “You’re right. It’s just...your grandmother called.”

“And?” Bucky asked, his voice as cold as the chill George left behind. 

“She wants to...discuss some things.”

“What is there to discuss?” 

“She said to bring Sarah and Steve.”

“I’ll go,” Steve spoke up, “but my mother shouldn’t have to.  I’m not going to just parade her in to be cursed again.”

“Your mother will make her own decisions,” Winnie said sharply.  And, Steve reflected,  _ rightly.   _ He nodded, chastened.

Bucky pinched his side under the blanket in sympathy; he’d obviously been on the receiving end of Winnie’s low tolerance for bullshit many times.  Then he sighed.

“She has to be there, anyway.”

“Why?” Steve asked.

“She cursed you both.  Can’t undo it without both of you there.”

He turned to him, met those pretty, pretty eyes.  “You think she would?”

“I really, really hope so.”

Maybe it would be that easy.  If she assumed Steve had died a long time ago, maybe the realization that he was still alive and fighting, brought to her on Christmas on the lips of her grandson - his  _ boyfriend _ \- would be enough to make her reconsider.  Only things never worked that way for Steve.  Bucky was easily the best thing that had ever happened to him, and even this was fraught with caveats and fine print.  It always was, for him. 

Like when he got his back surgery.  His back never hurt, not much; it was just that the curvature of his spine restricted his chest cavity and made it hard for him to breathe.  With asthma, he needed every advantage he could get. So they straightened his spine, all right, and breathing was easier, but now he  _ hurt.   _ Every day of his life, he hurt.  He’d learned not to trust it when things looked up.  A small part of him still expected Bucky to decide this was all too much and cut and run while he could.

“Okay,” Steve said.  “Let’s get going.”

  
  
  


The ride to Bucky’s house was silent.  Winnie turned on the radio five minutes in, and of course it was that station that played whatever it wanted, whiplashing them from Donna Summer to Green Day to Fifty Cent.  Steve wasn’t tolerant enough for any of it this morning, even with a cup of coffee and leftover cinnamon buns on board. He gritted his teeth and dealt with it. Silence wouldn’t have been any better.

He could  _ feel _ Bucky hoping next to him.  Bucky hadn’t lived the life he had.  He believed in miracles. Steve stared out the window, not wanting to drag him back down to Earth. 

  
  
  


The house in Queens was…

Dark.  And cold.

The darkness was easy to attribute to the mixture of 40s and 70s decor.  The cold, however...Steve looked around, and there was George. His image was faint and he looked strained, somehow.  

“She put up...protective spells,” he said, sounding like he was at the end of a very long hallway.  “More than before. I can barely...” George stopped, his glance slipping away from Steve to land on Sarah.  She was looking straight at him. And, if Steve wasn’t mistaken,  _ seeing _ him.

Steve touched her elbow.  She looked at him, eyes wide.  Yeah, she could definitely see him.  He exhaled, then squeezed and gave a nod, hoping she would understand that he’d explain later.

It was irrelevant, anyway, because Elena appeared a moment later.  Steve wasn’t sure what he expected her to look like, but it wasn’t this.  If she cleared five feet he’d be surprised, but she held herself like a giant.  She looked younger than expected, her features severe but striking, crowned with long wavy hair that was still more pepper than salt.  There was no question that she was strong, but…

She was thin, bordering on too thin, and her back was a little hunched.  Steve could hear her breathing. Elena Barnes was, like him, not well.

_ Every curse you cast is a curse on you, too. _

“Sit,” she said.

  
  
  


She didn’t prevaricate, and thank God for that.  Otherwise they might have gone from the world’s most uncomfortable car ride to the world’s most uncomfortable living room gathering.

“I’ve given it some thought,” she began.

Steve was watching his mother.  Her hands were fisted in her lap, white-knuckled.  She was angry. And  _ afraid _ .  It made Steve want to throw something.

Elena Barnes lifted her chin and stared at them imperiously.

“I will lift the curse.  But  _ only _ on the condition that you,” she stabbed a finger at Bucky, “never see  _ him _ ,” Steve, now, “again.”

Of  _ course  _ that was her condition.  Steve felt sick. They shouldn’t have come.

“But he’s my boyfriend,” Bucky blurted, like he couldn’t comprehend what she was saying.

Elena’s face tightened and Steve’s hackles rose, because he knew the look of someone about to lose their temper.

“It’s bad enough you’re like that,” she snapped.  “A homosexual. It was just supposed to be a phase.”

“ _ Elena _ !” Winnie barked, her voice hard with fury.  Bucky went chalk white next to her, barely breathing, in a kind of shock. 

“No!” she thundered.  “No more of this indulgence!  I didn’t live this long to watch my grandson piss away the family legacy.  You want him to live, James,  _ you don’t see him _ .  You forget all about him.  You date girls, you get married, you have babies.  You do what you’re supposed to do!”

It took everything he had to stay in control, to do nothing but sit and glare and reach for Bucky’s limp, clammy hand.  They hadn’t come for this. This wasn’t someone he could fight. She was still Bucky’s  _ grandmother _ , who until very recently he loved without thought or condition.  Whom he thought loved  _ him _ without condition.  Beyond that, Steve was very aware that he had no idea what Elena was capable of, magically.

_ Well, surely you must have some idea, Steve. _

He dug his fingernails into his palms.

“I don’t think your grandson is the one pissing away the family legacy,” Sarah said a moment later, acid in every word.

Elena stood up.  Steve stood up, too, stepping in front of his mother.  Sure, he didn’t know what he was up against, but he would fucking  _ die _ before he let this woman hurt her again. 

Elena sneered at him.  “You think you can stop me?”

“I made it this far,” Steve growled.  

“S-Steve,” Bucky interrupted, and the fear in his voice was the only reason Steve took his eyes off her.  “Steve.” He was up on his feet, hand around Steve’s wrist, but he couldn’t make eye contact. “You could...be better…” he said, hair hanging over his downturned face.  “Not sick, or hurt.”

Fuck, they  _ talked  _ about this.  That day at the police station, when Bucky saw the video.   _ Don’t you ever let anyone hurt you on my account.   _ Steve’s hurting was done; nothing could change that.  He didn’t need to be an expert in Roma magic to know that even if Elena lifted the curse, his body was what it was.  He’d still have a crooked spine, bad circulation, a faulty heart. He’d just be less likely to die from it anytime soon.  

He’d still hurt, but it was a hurting he was used to.  One he accepted a long time ago, before he ever knew there was a reason for it.  Nothing more, nothing less. Walking away from Elena’s offer wouldn’t be the same as sacrificing what they had for Steve to be “better”.  It was just the status quo over something too terrible to imagine.

The plain and simple truth was that he had finally found the love of his life, and he would never, ever survive without Bucky, curse or not.  Not anymore.

“I would hurt every fucking day I had to spend away from you,” he replied, voice raw with emotion, and it was the truth.  And he knew it was reciprocated, because Bucky lifted his head and his expression melted. The fear and pain sloughed away, and there was just  _ him, _ that slightly dazed face he got when he beheld some new thing in the cosmos on the NASA website or Steve making images appear on paper out of nothing but soft graphite lines.

“It will not be many more days,” Elena said, smug and cruel and certain.

That was Sarah’s cue to stand up.  Steve had only really seen his mother in a state of rage once or twice, but he knew her temper was as bad as his once you stripped all the kindness and patience away.  There was a lot of both in her, but if one managed to exhaust it all…

He had to do something.  They had to get out of this house, away from this woman, or  _ someone _ was going to get hurt.  Several someones, maybe. He reached for his mother, but she stopped on her own; she stared hard at Elena, chin up, fire burning in her eyes.

“You don’t know Steve very well.”

Next to them, Bucky straightened up, fortified.  His grandmother’s words had hurt him deeply, but he found the strength to refuse to be cowed.  “And that’s your loss. Goodbye, Mami.” 

He held out a hand to Winnie.  She took it and stood beside him.  Steve and Sarah turned toward the door. 

“You leave with them and you’re dead to me,” Elena threatened.  “Both of you.”

And  _ that _ was what tipped Steve over the edge.  He whirled, anger sizzling down his every nerve ending, and the air  _ shivered  _ with it.

“That’s  _ enough!” _ he shouted.

In the kitchen, drying plates fell from the dishrack and shattered on the floor.  The window next to Elena’s head cracked with a  _ ping _ .  Her eyes widened.

“For someone so upset over the loss of her son that she felt a need to  _ curse a perfectly innocent woman and her unborn child _ , you sure don’t seem to care that you’re losing the rest of your family right now.”  Steve took two steps closer and would have gone further if Bucky’s hand hadn’t clamped around his wrist again.  “You’re throwing them away,” he snarled. “This is on  _ you _ .  And if you really loved George, you would know he’d never want this.  But you’ve shut him out, too, haven’t you?”

“Don’t you dare say his name!” she breathed, white with rage.  “Get out of my house and take your bastard father’s  _ mulo _ with you!” 

“Steve,” Bucky pleaded, low, “come  _ on _ .”

He went.  For Bucky, he went.

  
  


Steve was a wreck for the rest of the day, irritable and uncomfortable and wanting to shout at everyone.  Something itched along his skin, throbbing in time with his sore back. Everyone sensed it and left him alone.  He spent most of his time curled in the corner of the couch in a blanket, heating pad in place, while everyone else moved around him.

Winnie and Bucky were staying.  That was good, but it meant a certain amount of shuffling; the third bedroom had been Tom’s office for years, and now it needed to be a bedroom for Winnie.  Without any discussion it was clear that Bucky was bunking with Steve. Any other time there might have been hand-wringing, Church-mediated worries about impropriety,  _ you’re only twenty, you can’t be trusted to make good decisions _ \- but right now, Sarah didn’t seem to have the energy for that.

At some point, she came over to him with a pill and a glass of water.

“I know your back’s hurting, honey.”

“It’s always hurting,” he grumbled from his blanket nest.

“Take this.”

“What is it?”  

“Oxycodone.”

Steve huffed.  He purposely took the non-narcotic meds so he could function, and so he didn’t get addicted.  He didn’t like having to resort to opioids. They made him sleepy and useless, and heaven help him if he took them for more than three days.  Constipation was no one’s idea of a good time.

“Please, baby.  You only get like this when it’s really bad.”

He  _ barely _ kept himself from saying  _ it’s not my fucking back. _  But it was hurting pretty damn bad, because he was tense and angry and it dared to rain outside.  And probably some psychiatry mumbo-jumbo about emotional pain translating to physical pain.

He took the pill, and another one four hours later, and the rest of the day passed in a floating blur.  He ate dinner in slow motion - leftovers. Waved off a hot toddy expertly crafted by Tom. Laid on the couch for movie time again because this was the time of year where they usually caught up on movies they hadn’t had time to see, oh, praise the joys of on demand.  He paid zero attention to the movie. Just blinked, and breathed, and focused on the caress of Bucky’s hand through his hair.

  
  


By the time he and Bucky settled into bed, the second pill was wearing off and Steve felt clear.  The pain died down, too, because he’d finally been able to relax. The buzzing itch was mostly gone.  He snuggled into Bucky’s chest and inhaled his smell.

“There...there is one silver lining,” Bucky murmured, after about fifteen minutes of breathing together in the dark.

There were a few, as far as Steve was concerned.  He got Bucky. He got  _ love _ .  And his mother and Winnie got their best friends back, though there was no recovering the two decades they’d lost.  There would be two more, though. Hopefully more than that.

_ If I’m not around, at least Mom will have Winnie. _

It was a traitorous thought - he fully planned on being around until God himself came down and said it was time to go - but a comfort nonetheless.

“What’s that?” Steve asked.

“My gr--” he stopped abruptly and shook his head.  “ _ She _ said something about a mulo.”

He had processed that, but distantly; he didn’t know what it meant.  

“My bastard father’s, yes,” Steve replied, a hint of humor in his voice.  “What’s a mulo?”

“A ghost.”

Steve sat up.  “Wait,  _ what? _ ”

Bucky smiled at him.  “You’re not as bad at magic as you think.  You  _ did _ summon your father.  I guess our dads are a package deal.” 

Steve found himself completely winded with shock and emotion, mind racing.  It  _ made sense _ .  All the things he couldn’t explain - that first touch in the attic, whatever had stopped Jack’s punch that night, even the burst of cold when he’d been standing with his mother on Christmas morning - could it really have been…

“It’s the same,” Bucky went on.  “You can’t see him. But  _ she _ can.  And me.”

“You’ve  _ seen _ him?” Steve gasped, grabbing hold of Bucky’s wrist.

“Today was the first time.  He looks just like the picture you had the day we met.”

“The first time?  But you watched the video at the police station, if that was him you should have seen him, right?”

“Steve.”  Bucky turned his arm so they were cradling one another’s forearms.  “I watched that through my fingers. I couldn’t stand to see them hurting you.  If the camera picked him up, I missed it.”

He supposed he would be the same way if he had to watch a recording of someone hurting Bucky.  Unable to watch, at least the first time around. The second, he’d watch it with every ounce of attention he had to memorize all the people who did Bucky wrong.  He thought, perhaps, they were different in that way, but hoped they’d never have the occasion to know for sure.

“Did you...did you talk?”

Bucky nodded.  “A little, outside, while you were napping.”

_ In a drugged stupor, you mean? _  Steve blinked, still struggling with the revelation.

“If he’s been here this whole time why didn’t he--”

“My grandmother told him that everyone blames him for what happened.  My family for Dad, and you and Sarah for being left behind. He didn’t think anyone would want anything to do with him.  But he’s been checking on you every now and then, just to make sure you’re okay.” 

Steve breathed, and eventually gave voice to the thought he could no longer box up, nor send on down the assembly line for consideration later.

“I am not okay.”

“I know.”  Bucky touched his face.  “Neither am I.”

What a fucking relief it was, to not have to be alone in that.  He’d always carried the burden by himself, or at least tried to because his mother had enough to carry.  No more. It didn’t feel fair, exactly, but much like George and Joey, Steve and Bucky seemed to be a package deal.

He couldn’t decide if he wanted to fuck Bucky into the mattress until he cried or ask him to call his father’s ghost.  What a dichotomy. In the end, though, he was probably too tired to do much justice to the former.

“Can you call him?” Steve asked in a small voice, allowing himself the rare luxury of being vulnerable by choice.

“Of course,” Bucky breathed, like he was stupid for thinking there’d be any other answer.  He looked up and spoke. “Hey, Joey?”

In the space of a breath the room went cold, same as it did for George, but Steve couldn’t see anything.  His heart pounded.

“He’s...he’s here?”

“Yeah.”

He waited for something,  _ anything _ to tell him his father was really there.  A moment later he got it, a graze against his forehead, smoothing his hair back, just like on Halloween.  Then it brushed down to his cheeks. It felt like two hands made of mist were cradling his face.

He had to be close, to do that.  If he could see him, Steve was sure he would have been staring right into his eyes.  He wished he could. Emotion stung him, blocking up his throat.

“Is it the curse?  That makes us unable to see?” Steve forced out.  Even as he asked it, he knew the answer. It had to be the curse.  That was why George appeared to him, and Joseph to Elena.  _ A curse on you, too. _  She couldn’t see the one she loved, the one whose loss had supposedly driven her to wickedness.  The only ghost she could see was the man she blamed. 

“Probably,” Bucky whispered.  He tilted his head just so, like he was listening.  Then, “He says when he first appeared he reached for you, but as soon as he touched you something pulled him away.  Sent him to my grandmother. It was a while before he figured out how to get around her spells and find you.” 

It explained so much.  The threads of the curse tied George to Steve, and Joseph to Elena.  No wonder Elena had reacted so negatively to George’s attempts to communicate with her; she must have assumed it was Joseph trying to haunt her.  He had no reason to... _ then _ .

He thought about what she’d told him and instantly a helpless sort of rage flared hot in his chest alongside everything else.  His emotions were a bad cocktail with too many ingredients, the shittiest Long Island Iced Tea in existence. Steve brought a hand up and placed it over the shifting presence on his cheek.

“She was lying.  We never blamed you.  We knew the last thing you wanted was to leave us.” 

“It was,” Bucky confirmed softly.

Usually, Steve would fight the mess of feelings.  There was no point now. Because, wrapped up in the many layers of misery, there was an aching sort of happiness.  He let the catharsis happen, tears he couldn’t even have defined sliding down his cheeks, and then he fell asleep with Bucky curled around him like an oyster concealing a pearl.   

  
  


The morning dawned sunny and peaceful.  Steve was warm, his back didn’t hurt, and Bucky was there, burrowing his face into Steve’s neck as he fought the inevitable slog towards consciousness.  Steve smiled and let himself drift. He was on the cusp of sleep when a voice cut through, loud and purporting trouble.

“Steven?”  

Oh, shit.  Tom had _never_ _once_ used Steve’s full name like that.  

Tom went on.  “Why did I just get an e-mail from District Attorney Potts informing me that I can’t represent you in your upcoming trial?” 

Bucky blinked himself awake and gave Steve a look of absolute disbelief.  “You didn’t tell them?”

“I forgot!”

“Trial?” Sarah echoed.  “ _ Trial?!” _

Steve leapt out of bed.  “I am  _ not _ the defendant!” he shouted as he peeled out of the bedroom, desperate to contain this before anyone had a coronary.  He could hear Bucky laughing behind him.

“ _ Why is there a trial?! _ ” Sarah demanded as he skidded into the kitchen.

“Yes, Steven, why  _ is _ there a trial?” Tom seconded, arms crossed over his chest.  Oh boy. He’d made his peace with Tom, but now he had to face the wrath of  _ two _ parents.  Three if he counted his actual father,  _ four _ if he counted George, too.  Jesus, his mother was bad enough all on her own!

She was already piecing it together, because she knew him.  “Oh, Steven, the cast when you were home for Thanksgiving! You told me you slipped on wet leaves!”

“Uh,” he said, feeling like the worst son in the world.

“And why would you tell them I was representing you, you know I can’t do that, it’s a conflict of interest!” Tom exclaimed.  “Not that I don’t want to, but--”

“I didn’t tell them anything,” Steve protested.  “Someone must have assumed.”

“Do you  _ have  _ a lawyer?” Tom asked, concern creeping onto his face.

“That is not the point here!” Sarah interrupted.  “What happened?” 

Steve sighed.  Well, there went the brief moment of peace.

“Let me get a cup of coffee.  Then I’ll explain everything.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably two chapters to go before we're done with this tale.
> 
> Love in the form of kudos and comments is always treasured!!!


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